Automaton Girl

Part 1 - Chapter 3 - Webs

Her hair was long and thin. It was an entracing, deep-violet color. It could pass as black, but closely it was defiantly a purplish color. Her skin was a vanilla ivory that lacked a blemish or beauty mark. Her face was perfectly shaped, with plush cherry-colored lips and a small, cute nose.

Her eyes --- were the most capturing part of her.

They stared at you with simple innocence. They were an unlikely color; a hazelish-yellow color, almost like a honeycomb. They pulled me in. And before I could say anything --- perhaps like, "Who are you?" --- the girl fell over and drifted off.

Now this was a new situation.

Am I . . . hallucinating?

Has too much of the outside world gotten to me?

I walked over with caution. She laid on my floor. Violet hair, ivory skin, long eyelashes. She was wearing a white sundress, with frills around the chest. She looked like she was going to a wedding, perhaps at the beach.

My knees placed themselves onto floor as I watched this girl lay motionless on my floor. I wasn't sure if I should touch her --- so I didn't. I looked at her. And then I said, "Hello?"

She wouldn't wake.

"C . . . can you hear me?" I asked her.

Nothing.

In situations like these, I have a bad tendency to think the worst possible scenario. And in that scenario, this girl was lying on my floor, dead.

"Oh god . . . oh god . . ." I panicked. I looked around. I seemed to be ill-prepared for a situation like this. I never thought a day in my life, "What would I do if a girl suddenly appeared in my room?"

Because it seemed so unlikely, at the time.

I stood up. I looked around. I never bought a phone because I didn't have a need for one. Who exactly did a shut-in ever call? Everything that was in my room right now is something I ordered online. I thought maybe calling the police, but I'd have to use the phone downstairs.

Ah . . . but what would you say? That you came home and some girl was there, before she passed out on your floor?

It seemed too much like a joke or a prank.

I paced around the room for a solution. Before finally, I decided to check her pulse.

I kneeled down.

I gulped.

"S-sorry . . ." I muttered, before placing my hand on her neck ---

Her eyes shot open like a pile of dynamite. A surprised reflex, she gazed around the room, inhaling her surroundings. I fell back before picking myself up, trying to gain some distance from this stranger.

Silence.

[...........]

She sat up. She felt the side of my unmade bed. She felt the carpet. She touched her white sundress. Her eyes wandered curiously around my room, as if it was an exibit.

Silence.

[...........]

"Who are you?"

A long pause. Air ventilation. A car just passed. A numbness in my legs.

She looked up at me. Her face displayed an eeiry ray of stoticness.

"I . . ."

Her voice came out like a soft drift. A monotone level.

Her eyes looked at the floor.

In a very flat tone, she said:

"I am Test Subject 1, CR 0."

[.......]

"What?"

Is she crazy?

"I was created in a labratory by my creator." She said so bluntly.

"Are you lost?"

She stared at me.

"Are you . . . Smith?"

Is she talking about my last name?

"In terms of last-names, yes."

She glanced over at my CDs at which she was originally caught fiddling with.

". . . I do not believe I am lost, then."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I was told I am supposed to stay here."

"Eh?"

"Are you sure you have the right place? Anyways, how did you even get in here?"

She stood up. Eyes still targetted.

"Darren Smith, Apartment 3 on the second floor of Joultry Apartment Complexes, in Joultry, Canada." She looked over at me.

"Darren Smith, Age 24, born June 16th, 1989. Mother is Amelia Court Smith, Father . . . unknown. Paternal guardian is Susan Court, deceased."

I looked at her with confusion.

Utter, unbeknowist confusion.

And with what little I could think, I spouted, "W . . . who are you?"

And with that same, frozen face, she said:

"I am Test Subject 1, CR 0."