My Name Is

                I never dream of a better tomorrow, but I hope for a better today. Most of the time, I’m alone. I give in and let my guard down when I’m around the ones I care for. Today, heh, it’s just another day. I’m in my room, right now. You can unlock the door and open it if you want. Better yet, when you come by and push me my tray of food, you can open the cat-flap and take a glance at me. I’m not a sore for sight, I promise.

                Just…being in the dark does funny things to you. There’s no light in my room. There are no windows either. It’s just me, a sink, my bed, and…well, that’s it. Sounds boring, doesn’t it? You’re probably asking: Are you always in there? The answer: Yes. This sounds weird and messed up on so many levels, but I’ve haven’t gone outside for a long time. Do I count the passing days? Yep, I do. You can check my wall if you want. I use a loose nail to scratch a line on the wall every day.

                I don’t know how many scratches are on there, but I’ve counted before. I don’t remember the number, but that’s not important. You’re probably thinking: Oh my gosh! This kid’s in a jail. No. It’s not a jail. It feels like a jail. It looks like a jail. It’s not a jail. It’s my home. It’s been my home for a long time. I have a family, somewhere. They can’t visit me because the guards won’t let them. They’ve tried calling me, but the guards say, “Hang up. You have the wrong number.”

                It’s been a long time. I wonder if they still remember me. My old man’s a driller for this oil company up north. My mom’s a home-mom. My little sister…she’s still in school. I think she is. She’s not in college yet, that’s what I know for sure. I still remember them. Dad has this weird accent whenever he talks. He’s pretty clumsy and he likes to call me and my sister Sweet Peas. Weird, I know.

                My mom always wears an apron around her waist. Done. The only time she doesn’t wear it is when she’s not at home. Mom says she wears it because she feels more at home when she does. I remember her cooking. We have a strict schedule on what the week’s meals will be. Every Monday is noodles. Every Tuesday is tacos and so on and so forth. Mom used to get mad when me and my sis didn’t finish all our food. I think she still does.

                My little sister is in middle school. I’ve counted the days. She should be in…seventh grade now. My little sis came into my life when I was really little. When she was a baby, her cheeks were always puffed out and I couldn’t help but pinch them. She grew up to be a quiet girl. I don’t know if she still is.

                Oh, someone’s pushing my tray of food through the flap. Yuck. They’re giving me lumpy oatmeal again. I’m not hungry right now. I’ll eat later. They gave me a bottle of water this time. Let me tell you something. Sink water tastes nasty. The water in my room must be unfiltered or something.

                I’m under my bed now. When those guards took me here, they took every electronic I had on me. I managed to sneak some back when they weren’t looking. I have my headphones on. They’re those noise-canceling ones. I think I bought them off of EBay. I pulled an electric violin from under my bed.

                Don’t ask me how I snuck this one back. It’s a secret. I plug the violin cord into my headphone and play a little song. I can hear the notes through my headphones, but if I take them off, I won’t hear a thing. That’s a cool fact about electric violins. I don’t know if other electric instruments are the same or not. Who cares? I have music to take my mind off things.

                I call this song: Solo for the Self. Get it? I’m playing a song that only I can hear. Yeah, bad joke… There’s nothing to do in this room besides sleeping and staring at a wall…and scratching lines on the wall…and eating lumpy food, three times a day. Playing music really brightens things up in your darkest time. Get it? Yeah, another bad joke…

                You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all of this. Okay, I’ll tell you. You have to keep it a secret. If you don’t, the guards will hunt you down and you might as well be my roommate. Just kidding. But seriously, keep it a secret. The guards will hunt you down.

                I’m what they call a medium. I’m an electric medium. When I touch computers or wires or flash drives or anything electronic, my mind gets transferred into said electronic. It sounds weird and confusing, I know. I was thinking the same thing when they told me. The guards didn’t tell me. The scientists did.

                The scientists�"the ones that sent the guards to lock me up here�"want to use my power and copy it so they can transfer it to others. Believe me; I’m not making this up. I’m really tired right now, but I still want to finish my song. Transferring your mind into other things makes you mentally tired. I have to feel it every day. The scientist should be coming soon.

                I’ll finish my song later. Well, you’ve heard my story. I want to hear yours. You can take your time. I rather hear your sob story than transfer my mind onto a computer. Hold on, the scientists are here. I don’t like the look in their eyes. Going through this torture really wears you down. I feel so simple-minded now.

                I’m sorry. I won’t be able to hear your story today, or tomorrow, or three years down the road. My brain’s tired, but they don’t understand that. If you meet an old man that’s drilling for oil and if he kind of looks like me, tell him that I’m okay. Tired, but okay. If you see a woman that wears an apron all the time, tell her I love her. If you see a little girl with pigtails and if she’s always quiet, tell her I still remember her. They’re my family and they have the right to know what’s going on through my head.

                If you see them, pass on my story to them. You don’t remember my story? I want to smack you in the face, but the scientists are already hooking wires to my head. Okay, tell them I’m going to come home no matter what. I can be here all my life, but I’ll come home again. Tell them that.

                If you do, they’ll ask you for my name. They’re my family after all. They have the right to know how you got this information. I’ll tell you my name.

My name is Gil, Gil Heartnet.

Reviews

[MeathooksMcGee]

Yeah, that's clever! :) ...

[Fire Mage Andrea]

Good stuff - so the main character isn't completely helpless at all.
This is written as if the character (Gil Heartnet) is an actual person who is really speaking or writing to you.

[Vivian]

It took a while to get his message. Those scientists were strict on what comes and goes in their lab