Awakening

Awakening

I open my eyes. I am not at the house. The air is moist. A ladder sits in the middle of the room. The room is shaped like a glass ball. The ladder disappears through a hole at the top. I take tree steps back. A dog is coming. It is a beagle. I have seen them in books. I like books. They are my home. I have a house. It is not my home. Mother wants it to be. But it is not. It will never be.

I freeze. A cold object licks my hand. “What are you waiting for?” a friendly voice asks, “Everyone who comes down here gotta go up the ladder! Come on, let’s go”. It tugs my sleeve. I stare at the floor. I flush. I feel a corner of my mouth go up. The other corner follows in quick succession. I am smiling. “Don’t ya tell me you’ve never seen a doggy like me speak!” it stares at me through squinting eyes. “Bloody hell, you really never heard a doggy like me speak, have ye?” I shake my head. I had not expected this. It cannot happen. My books say they cannot. Mother says they cannot. Father says they cannot. Even Linda says they cannot. She is only six.

Evidence had spoken. It had spoken. It had sworn like a Londoner. That was what Mother says about politicians. It even had an accent. “Make haste! Make haste! Can’t wait all day!” it runs towards the ladder. It stares. “Ya comin’ or not?” I detect an impatient edge. I should go. Why?

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask. It snorts “Ya already asked one, lass. Ask away if ye want, but don’t ya ask how come I became such a chatty mutt, you’ll prove yerself a fool, lass. Ever wondered how come you talk?”. I did. I know. I know why. My books taught me. “Humans have vocal cords, which enables it to talk. Dogs have them too, but they bark”. I look at my feet. I look at the dog. His expression is slightly angry. I correct myself: Annoyed. The dog is annoyed. Why? I just answered its question. He should be thankful. He is not. What did I miss?

“What is up there?” I ask. I do not know why he is angry. He should not be angry. I miss things. Lines near the eyes. Eyebrows knitted together. A firm line of a mouth. A twitch of an eyelid. Even a movement of the mouth Mother calls a smile. I do not care about that now. I am curious. What is up there? “Do you know what chatterboxes you humans are? All you do is ask questions! What is this place? Dreamland, of course! Bloody hell…” Its mutters become incomprehensible as he begins to bark.  My hands fly to my ears. Mother says I do that when loud noises annoy me. I am annoyed. I am not annoyed. I do not know how I feel. I just want it to stop barking. Now. Stop. “Stop it, stop that bloody barking!” I scream. I feel nothing but dizziness. The dog swears. I am swearing too. Mother hates swearwords. Father screams at Linda if she dares use one in his presence. Not that I care. I am not a human being. Just an inanimate machine.

The barking stops. He flushes. Can dogs flush? They cannot. My books say so. This one is. Does common knowledge not apply in this strange place? Can I… No I cannot. I am a machine. I will stay one. Machines cannot turn into people. I shall not turn into a person. The dog stares at me. I recognize the look from my own rigid face. Mother says there is nothing to be embarrassed about. I know this. Yet I look embarrassed. And scared.