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Jillian watched the man's face twist in a contorted set of emotional acrobatics, responding to what she had thought a fairly simple question. She counted the seconds warily, guarding her body from his as she scrutinized his expression.
This was almost pointless, as she couldn't do much analyzing of anything, really. She was singularly off kilter and mentally unbalanced; the lack of gravity creating an eerie, dreamlike nature to her body and mind. Aside from her initial shock upon waking, however, the fact that she was floating caused her less alarm than perhaps it should have. She knew she was in space; and she knew this with a certainty that did not match the emptiness that echoed in other corners of her mind.
It was a FACT, boldly labeled "FACT" in her brains innermost filing cabinets. Compartments labeled "FACTS" and "DATA" were all full and bursting; while others, with poorly scrawled pencil markings saying things like "MOTHER" and "FATHER", were torn open, empty, and lying on the floor.
Space, an answer provided by the "FACT" of a lack of gravity; was only the beginnings of an area code. Where in space? On what? With whom? Where was she? Why wouldn't he answer? Did he not know? Where was she?
Unaware of these backstage happenings, Jillian was growing ever more alarmed each second he did not respond; until he did. The answer was a question; however, and one that did little to ease her mind.
Was she all right?
At this point she was unsure.
She was a floating, frail doll in a tin can with all the personal recollection of a child's plaything. There was a strange, alarmingly large man trapping her, (or trapped with her?) and to add to all this she was beginning to feel as though she might vomit at any moment.
And vomit she did.
Perhaps that was a response in and of itself.
This was almost pointless, as she couldn't do much analyzing of anything, really. She was singularly off kilter and mentally unbalanced; the lack of gravity creating an eerie, dreamlike nature to her body and mind. Aside from her initial shock upon waking, however, the fact that she was floating caused her less alarm than perhaps it should have. She knew she was in space; and she knew this with a certainty that did not match the emptiness that echoed in other corners of her mind.
It was a FACT, boldly labeled "FACT" in her brains innermost filing cabinets. Compartments labeled "FACTS" and "DATA" were all full and bursting; while others, with poorly scrawled pencil markings saying things like "MOTHER" and "FATHER", were torn open, empty, and lying on the floor.
Space, an answer provided by the "FACT" of a lack of gravity; was only the beginnings of an area code. Where in space? On what? With whom? Where was she? Why wouldn't he answer? Did he not know? Where was she?
Unaware of these backstage happenings, Jillian was growing ever more alarmed each second he did not respond; until he did. The answer was a question; however, and one that did little to ease her mind.
Was she all right?
At this point she was unsure.
She was a floating, frail doll in a tin can with all the personal recollection of a child's plaything. There was a strange, alarmingly large man trapping her, (or trapped with her?) and to add to all this she was beginning to feel as though she might vomit at any moment.
And vomit she did.
Perhaps that was a response in and of itself.
