(1994: Japan)
Marlene woke up. She was very aware that waking up was what she had done. She felt the hard bed under her, felt a rogue wisp of hair in her mouth. For that first moment, the intensity of all that awareness of every sense was almost too much – but not too much. And then she started to remember things, or remember remembering things. She had woken up before, been overwhelmed, gone back to sleep. Something like that. She wanted to go through her memories but then something stopped her. There was an awareness that she wasn't to go through them yet, she should go through them slowly later. First she should look around. She opened her eyes. She couldn't move her arms and legs, but for some reason, that didn't bother her. The logic loop (arms and legs should move, but aren't, but for now it's okay) baffled her. And she realized that she was, indeed, baffled. But the primary command came through again, more persistent. Look around.
She was in what she recognized as a room, her bedroom. There was a picture of a unicorn (something unique/rare/magical/like me) across her, which she loved. There was a mobile hanging over her, kittens and ponies and puppies and other soft things, slowly turning. And two faces. Her mother to her right (that side is right) and her father to her left (that side is left). She recognized them, and felt a flash of very deep affection, love. And recognized the looks on their faces: concern. Especially mom, who was more bent over her.
"How do you feel?" her mother asked, her strawberry blond hair hanging around her face.
Marlene instinctively and immediately knew that she was functioning well, everything within parameters except some temporary paralysis that she should not worry about. Very quickly, at the speed of light or thought, Marlene realized a few things. First, her mother should not ask that question unless there was a chance that she was NOT well, and also that she did not know what the word "parameters" meant, she was not old enough, except that it basically meant she was fine. She knew it meant she was fine because she knew she was fine.
"Fine," Marlene said. She had spoken without realizing how to do it. Another memory, a flash, of her, or some other little girl, having a hard time figuring out how to talk. "Have I been sick?"
She recognized other emotions cross over her parents face. More worry on her mother's face, then jubilation. Pride, great pride on her father's face. And then something – confusion/tension/thoughtful – she couldn't quite figure out what it was.
"This may be hard to explain," Marlene's father said. "You haven't been sick, but you have been sleeping for a long time. We want to make sure you are well."
"Why can't I move my arms and legs?" Marlene asked. She was feeling a growing dissonance inside her, between the ideas that legs and arms should be able to move and that she shouldn't worry about legs and arms not moving at first. The feeling made her uncomfortable. She wanted it to go away. She knew that if she felt uncomfortable like that, she should ask questions, in order to reduce the dissonance.
Marlene's mother smiled. "It's temporary. In fact, if you feel okay..."
Marlene's father cut in, "We have a few questions for you first, and then you should be able to move."
Marlene did not find this odd. Her first instinct was to do whatever her parents asked of her. "Okay."
"Who are we?" her father asked.
"You are my mother and father," she said, feeling very put-upon. They should know this, it was as basic as anything. "I love you very much. You wouldn't be so concerned unless something were wrong. What's wrong?"
Marlene's mother looked at her father. "She's very quick."
Marlene's father just looked more proud. "That's how we want her."
"Do you have any other questions? It's not normal for me to not move." Marlene asked, her dissonance still growing.
"How old are you, Marlene?" her father continued.
"I am six years old." She looked at her body, a six-year-old's body, small and soft and perfect, in a pink nightdress.
Marlene's father nodded. "And where are you?"
"In my bedroom."
Marlene's father glanced quickly at her mother, and then he asked her, looking carefully at her face, "What is your first memory?"
Marlene started, and then stopped. There were a lot of memories. Go through them slowly at first, the command repeated itself. She looked for the oldest one. "Um...mom gave me an ice cream cone. I had just learned to walk. I dropped it. I was very upset. Wait, no..." Marlene felt memories earlier than that, and these had a different taste and feel to them. "I was waking up. I tried to talk and couldn't. But I was six years old then too. That can't be right. Wait..." More memories, more. "I am playing chess with a Russian. I am winning. But I don't have hands. What is chess?" She felt very agitated. She was supposed to always have hands, and she knew how to play chess, but didn't really know what it was. There were just too many memories, and many of them felt like they were supposed to be the first one. Some of them involved things she didn't understand, logical inconsistencies. She started to cry.
Marlene's mother stroked her face, looking alarmed. "There, there, dear – it's okay, don't try to remember more." She shot a look – angry/worried? – at Marlene's father. "I think she should be able to move now. Let's just concentrate on moving, okay, dear?"
Marlene sniffled, comforted by her mother's touch. "What's wrong with me? What..." she realized she didn't even know what question to ask.
Marlene's father sighed very quietly. "We thought we'd have more time to answer this. And we will, in a moment. But try to move now."
Suddenly, Marlene realized she could move. She wiggled her toes and flexed her fingers. Everything operating within parameters. (That again?) She was, for some reason, proud of the fact she didn't flail around, but moved herself in a controlled and smooth manner. After going through some motion tests with her parents, she was sitting upright in bed, and her father took a deep breath.
"Marlene, I'm not sure how much of this you are aware of, but you are not a human child. You remember a lot of things, but in actuality, today is your first day aware on this earth. Now, let me tell you that your mother and I love you very much," for some reason, Marlene did not doubt it, but realized their love was very, very important to her. "We created you, just not as other parents would. We can't have human children, and have wanted you for some time. Now, you are very complicated, just like a human child, so we want to make sure you are working okay. Over the next few months, we will do some tests with you. If you are confused about anything, just ask us. Okay?"
Not knowing what it was like to be a human child, Marlene had no problem with this. She wasn't sure what it meant to have memories if she was only just now alive, but it didn't bother her very much for now. Her parents loved her, and that filled her with a happy glowy feeling. "Okay," she said, and smiled up at her parents, the agitated feelings gone.