Harper

I wake up in a body that is not my own. As I open my eyes and I look around the room, frantically shifting eyes back and forth that do not belong to me. I am frozen. Harper thinks to herself: “Where am I? “Whose body is this? Shit! Am I dreaming? If so, this is a freaking nightmare. I think I must be paralyzed and stuck in this dream, this nightmare, this paranormal realm?! I move hands and feet that I know do not belong to me. It is as though I am stuck inside a body that does not belong to me.  It is like, I was forced into skin that does not fit right, and it is now that I realize I need to worry. That this is not a dream. Dreams are not this real, and I want to lay here until I wake up. I’ll wake up; I know I will. People always wake up from their nightmares. Just like the monsters, they never grab your feet when they hang out from the blankets. Demons are not real. But as soon as I tell myself to just lay here in this stranger's bed and wait for the suffering to cease, some strange force literally rips me out of bed, forcing this body to get the hell up. It is like my mind, and my body are not one. 

I slowly slouch out of this strange bed in this strange room in an unknown location in god knows where. I am trying to remember how to walk again. This body is so frail; it feels malnourished and weak as hell. I make my way to the bathroom to ensure I avoid the mirror next to the bed. The bathroom is more like a bathroom area. It is a toilet and a sink connected to the wall. I don’t think I am ready for the part of looking in the mirror just yet. I am ninety percent sure this is reality and the universe royally fucked up because the aliens did not wipe my brain when they transferred my subconscious, or maybe it was a secret government project gone wrong. I inhale deeply and exhale, and I gather the courage to move around on these stilt of legs and tell myself, “okay, nut up or shut up, Harper!”

As I move towards the bathroom, I note the color of the carpet and stare down at my bare feet. It is a gross military carpet. It is flat, like tile. How do I even know what military carpet looks like? Am I in the military? Is this an army room or facility? This girl is too young to be in the military. She looks like she can barely lift a ten-pound dumbbell, let alone do a military push-up. So why is she here in this room? Why am I here? Why can I not remember anything aside from my name? Everything is fuzzy. Something’s are there, but it is hazy. Overcast, like driving through heavy rain on a highway. You’re trying to focus on the road, but you are having a difficult time seeing the road, so you try to focus on the car ahead of you or the lines on the street, but it’s hard. The rain makes it hard to concentrate, hard to see correctly. There is so much rain in my head. The cars on the road are my memories. They are there in my head; I know they are there, but I can’t see them. The licenses plates are the most critical information, and I have to squint to see them. Where is all this rain coming from?

I stand at the entrance to the bathroom. It is as if my brain is fighting with my body. Or vice versa. Maybe both? I want to move forward, but at the same time, I don’t. So when I try to take a step forward, I end up falling forward. Then when I try to throw my hands out to catch myself. I don’t and end up face to floor instead. This will leave a mark for sure, I think to myself. As I push this small body up with all the strength there is left, heaving all the breath I have inside out, I grasp for the counter, and I get a good grip. I pull myself up, and as I do, I finally get a glimpse of my face, and when I do, I gasp. I can’t breathe. My heart has stopped. I don’t think it will start again. I look like a fifteen-year-old. So this is a kid's room, this is a child’s reflection, and I am hosted inside this child’s body. The reflection is so opposite of the real me. Wait? Do I still exist? Where is my body? Does it host this child? Or no one? Is it lying inside some government morgue? So many questions are racing through my head; it is pounding; I am so confused, and maybe I am the one confusing myself. Can you have a headache, a migraine, and a hangover without having had a single drop of alcohol? I feel like shit, but I don’t feel like I drank alcohol or did drugs. I try so hard to focus on what I can remember. The last twenty-four hours? The previous year, my life at all. It is all blank. The only thing I have in my head is an image of a beach, a light-skinned freckled woman, and a feeling that I am not where I am supposed to be. 

"Shit, Shit, Shit," I say around to this empty room as I move hand down my face. I am alone in a bathroom talking to myself. The reflection is of a dark-haired pasty young girl. Pasty like she has never seen the sun's rays. Her hair is dark, sort of like Scarlett Johansson, Black Widow. Her nails are also painted black. So maybe she is into grunge? She didn’t keep up with the pin polished. It is chipped like crazy, and my OCD is running wild. Hmm, I have OCD. That’s curious. Also, is her hair naturally this color, or is it dyed? Her eyes are a sort of green color, so I think it could be dyed. She is so skinny. By choice or genetics? I dissect this body with eyes that are not mine, and all I can think is why am I here and my next move.