#this is mistly a rhetorical question

[heyguysitseve]

How do you like...... feel better? Lol

[gurl2irl-blog]

ELAINE’S WORLD by Aevery Huens

For my final creative assignment in Sci-Fi Feminism, I decided to transpose a longtime comic idea of mine into a short story combining fairy tale tropes, dust bowl aesthetics, and an exploration of humanized ai. Inspired by Andrew Wyeth's painting "Christina's World," this following work of fiction was important in marrying my love for visual story telling with an effort to improve my ability to write cohesive yet engaging themes that draw the reader into a story. Finally, I wanted to create a piece of work that focused on a mother daughter relationship and internalized conflict rather than external.

When she woke, she felt that her face was against the rough hardwood floor. The next thing she noticed was a faint whining tone in the back of her head, as though her ears had just stopped ringing. It took her another moment to realize she was lying down, and after blinking a couple of times in her daze, she carefully propped herself up.   

Looking around, she could see she was at home. A short hallway was behind her, and large windows cast a grid pattern onto the foyer floor. She could see dust in the shafts of light, and with a frown mentally chastised herself for letting it get so dirty. Remembering she was on the ground again, she dusted herself off. I must have fell, or maybe fainted. ​ ​ Aside from the ringing, her head didn’t hurt, but she decided to run her hands through her hair to check for a bruise anyway. Her hair and scalp felt dry, but otherwise she seemed fine. 

 “Hello?” She called out to the house, her voice was horse and metallic. Her head was still a little scattered, so it took her a moment to think of who she was calling to.   

“Will?” There was no response, her voice reverberated against the old wood surfaces. He wasn’t home, but she couldn’t think yet of where he would be.   

She finished pushing herself off the ground and gave her long skirt a final pat. She began to think of excuses for where Will might be. Maybe he had gone with a friend. Or maybe he was still at school. But she couldn’t think of any recent events to prove her ideas, and furrowed her brow in concern. ​If I can’t remember anything, I might have a concussion. She ​ decided she’d better search around and find her phone, she would need to go to the hospital if she was having this much trouble- 

 A tugging at her leg interrupted her thoughts. A brown retriever was hanging on to her dress by the mouth, and it let go when she gave it her attention. It panted up at her expectantly. 

 “Sasha,” she said more to herself than the dog. She remembered that! Sasha was her dog, she wasn’t home completely alone! Bending down to pet her, Sasha’s gold dog tag on a black collar confirmed it.   

“Did I fall, Sasha?” She panted again in response. Having a sudden partner for rhetorical questions put her more at ease.   

She cautiously made her way from the foyer into the kitchen. The counters were bare and tidy, and none of William’s toys blocked the hallway today. ​ ​ She wouldn’t have been surprised if she had tripped over one, but the house was clutter free. Even the chairs of the table were all pushed in, a small chore she thought she’d need to perform herself for the rest of her life. Like any other mess, a phone was nowhere in sight.   

Still, she took a moment to lean against the wall, feeling the old texture of the wallpaper. The room seemed familiar yet entirely new, as though something she’d experienced vicariously through photographs. But she wasn’t at a complete loss. She remembered the kitchen dining set was a hand me down from her grandmother. She remembered William’s 5th birthday a few years ago, serving him a cake at that table. He’d been old enough to know better, but still called the color yellow “sunshine” to her simultaneous endearment and dismay. So the lit candles had been “sunshine” to him. Staring towards the table, she realized after a moment that it wasn’t complete. A chair was missing across from her, hidden by the orderliness of the other three.

“Where’d it go, Sasha?” But she was instead sniffing underneath the cabinets, assumedly searching for crumbs.   

It didn’t make sense, but she was looking for her phone, not her chair. So she moved back down the hall.   

Something in the corner of her eye stopped her. A mirror in the hall showed her own reflection, her eyes were dark and sleepless, and her cheekbones stuck out against her long face. I look so tired​ ​ . Her blonde hair was fading greyish, hardly sunshine anymore. “I look like shit, Sasha.” Speaking so frank felt funny to her. Sasha wagged her tail in agreement.

She continued back into the foyer, wondering if she should check for it upstairs. They are made of the same old wood as the floors, and she knows she’s had plenty of heart attacks watching Will almost stumble down them. It’s that thought that makes her hesitate, resting on the handrail. I better not climb stairs when I just fell, I look so frail. ​ ​ Besides, she decided, her phone may still be down here, maybe in the living room or out back in the mudroom.

Sasha stops her thinking again with scratches at the door. “Down, don’t do that,” she says, her voice stern. The dog stops, but whines back at her, jittery on the doormat. She must​ need to go. With a sigh, she move towards her. The door was left unlocked, and she frowns. ​ Minding her own balance, she pulls it open.

Before her isn’t a rural street with other homes, but a wide expanse of a field. The sight stuns her in the door frame. Tall, yellowed grass surrounds her, creating golden waves in the breeze. Sasha bolted across the porch and into the grass, creating a line through the field like a snake as she ran. Where am I?​  

She watched Sasha a minute more, processing. Even more so than Will’s absence, she had no excuse to explain the field before her. Tentative still, she stepped out from the porch and down into the grass. It was at least up to her thighs, and she was thankful for her old long skirt. A brown smudge on the yellow sea, Sasha was barely visible a few yards away.

“Come here!” she called out, but Sasha only raised her head pointedly at her. Instead, she made her way to Sasha. The sky was heavily overcast, with dark grey clouds moving slowly in the wind. Only the mistly brightness of the clouds on the horizon betrayed that the sun was shining beyond them. The ringing in her head was still there, and was just barely present over the rustle of the dying grassy ocean around her.

“Where are we, girl?” Looking back at her home, it somehow seemed in place with the surroundings. It was an old farmhouse with a small porch and grey wooden siding. It almost blended into the darkened sky, save for the porch and roof. Will’s upstairs window was in a large singular gable centered on the house.  

Where am I? She wondered some more, to no avail.

Over her shoulder, in the opposite direction, she could make out the only other anomaly on the horizon. A mass of dark, low trees were off at least a mile in that direction. Unlike her kitchen, they felt familiar in a discomforting way. ​That doesn’t make sense, this doesn't make sense. She chastized no one in particular. Suddenly, with an aggressive rustle and trail behind ​ her, Sasha bounded towards the trees.

“Sasha!” She called, but like last time, Sasha went a distance, stopped, then looked directly back. Clearly, Sasha was beckoning her to follow. This hardly seemed like the best idea

Yet she found herself walking towards the trees with her. I know she’d come back, but I​ better not lose her too. Perhaps Sasha knew where to take her, or where Will was. The idea ​ was ridiculous to her, but it was enough to make her walk.

When she reached Sasha, she kept going towards the distant trees, and Sasha trailed along happily besides her. She settled into a pattern, and while the daze and ringing persisted, she didn’t worry she would fall. The flat field was persistent, a yellow sea wide and constant. The trees seemed closer as she walked, her house more distant with a crushed longer trail behind her, but she was unsure. Even the rustling became a droning noise, and she tried to think of Will to occupy herself along the way. She could imagine his joy and her own panic if he’d ever been able to play in a field like this. He had no sense of hesitation to him, even more so than childishness could explain. She remembered his fifth birthday again, his eyes alight at the five candles around the simple cake. “Sunshine!” Then, of course, he had reached for one. “No, Will!” But she wasn’t fast enough, and he had immediately recoiled and cried at the burn.

Her footsteps slowed. What had happened after that? ​ ​ She remembered rushing towards him, looking down, but not what she had done to sooth his finger. They had continued to have cake afterwards, there had been guests after all. But she didn’t remember comforting him. The gap was small but troubling.

She hadn’t noticed, but the winds had picked up during the walk, and they whipped at her back, pushing her harder towards the forest. The ringing tone seemed to increase in volume along with the wind and the grass, only adding to her mental frustration. ​I should head back and call and ambulance. But she kept walking alongside Sasha. 

I should look for Will, she decided instead. ​ 

It took at least half an hour for her to reach the trees outright. Finally, she could see them clearly, dark green leaves stark against both the grass and the sky. They were full grown, but low and wilted, twisting similarly to the waves of the field in the wind. The grass was lower here, stunted by the shade provided. Though hardly rolling, there were small hills in the land into the groove. Her trepidation returned.  

“What did you want, Sasha?” The quietness of her call against the wind was alarming, and her worry grew. As she stopped, Sasha trotted directly ahead. Not far from the field at all, she searched for where she was headed: a mound between two trees. It took her a moment more to fully see it. 

Nestled in the dirt’s face was a door. Double doors, actually. They were dark and low, and rounded at the top. They were set into the ground, and seemed like a portal from a fairy tail. Or, perhaps, more like a witch's cabin. Sasha was pawing at them like before, but this time she didn’t scold her. The doors were foreboding, familiar. ​I can’t have been here before. 

The trees started to groan, and shook in the violent wind. Leaves tore around her from the ground and the branches, and she stumbled to the doors. Someone must live here, I can’t​ make it back to the house in this weather. She was practically shoved into the door, and began ​ to knock as loudly as her frail arm allowed.

“Please, open up!” 

 There was a flash of light, casting a stark shadow of her frame against the wood. Then a few moments later, a low rumble followed, reverberating through her. The whirring tone in her head seemed to spike for a moment, and she sunk to the ground against the door. Sasha pressed against her. Where am I? Where is Will? ​ ​ Of course she’d be worried for him, she prayed he wasn’t anywhere in the field. The winds were so strong now that she covered her heards with her arms.

“Oh, move! Aren’t ya comin’ in? Can’t ya see there’s a storm?”   

The voice was barking and gravely. She looked up to an old woman, back bent over, clutching a bag to her side. The witch of the cabin​ ​ , She thought briefly. Scrambling to her feet, her skirt billowed around her. She must have looked ridiculous.

“Is this your house?” It was the first thing she could think to ask.

“Of course it is!” the old woman yelled back, and pushed past her to the door. She followed the crone closely inside, letting Sasha slip in behind her.

The cramped inside of the den were even stranger than the front doors. For every item of clutter missing from her own home, it had found its way to here. Antique looking cabinets and tables were piled with chotskies, papers, books, and dishes. The room was dark and musty, even after the old woman flicked a switch to light several old lamps. Even more confusing and out of place was the occasional piece of machinery that sat on the floor or a miraculously free  surface. Plastic and metal arms jut geometrically around the room, juxtaposing the earthy walls and decor. She had no idea what any of it did. 

“I’m shocked ya wandered all the way out here. Did Sasha lead you?” The old woman talked over her back as she set her bag and it’s contents down. More mechanical parts were added onto a pile.

“She did,” she hesitated before replying. She was still as the old woman moved about the room, afraid she herself would fall over something unseen on the floor. The old woman bent down further to scratch Sasha’s head. I thought she hated Sasha​ ​ . She didn’t know where this idea comes from.

“I didn’t expect ya’d be ready to go till tomorrow. But after all, what do I know? Ha!” The old woman had a casual abrasiveness to her words. She’d never let you get a word in​ ​ , the assessment ran through her head. “It’s a good thing ya beat the storm, you’da taken a beatin’ for sure. Well, sit down, we’ll get started since you’re here!” The old woman pulled out a creaky chair from a dining table in the center of the room. She realized: That’s my missing kitchen​ chair! It was exactly the same, and no too chairs around that table matched either. The ​ discovery puts her oddly at ease. Of course, to put it kindly, her mother had always been eccentric. 

“Mama, how long have you been living here?” she plainly asked her. 

The old woman froze with her mouth open, clearly about to make a comment. Instead, her mother made an expression that she’s never seen before. She had horrified her. Stunned her. Had she said something wrong, she was usually so tactful. Furthermore, since when had she looked so old? Her wrinkles were deep, sliding down her face, and the fat that remained on her body hung down from her hunched frame. Her brow furrowed.

“Was that such a strange question, I’m the one who’s surprised.” Her mother still stared back at her. The silence was so unlike her, and she was unsettled again. The ringing was louder than the sounds of the storm on the den. 

Instead of replying, her mother quickly got up, grabbed something from the top of a pile, and sat back down. In front of her she sat a small black box. A red light came on. A camera.

“Now, what do you remember sweetie?” Her mother’s voice was different, less harsh, quieted. No longer distracted about the room, she was leaning forward with sudden interest in her. Her back cracked lightly with the motion. Was it maternal? It was seemingly caring.   

“I don’t know, I think I fell while at home, but I don’t know how... or why we’re out here.” Her mother’s expression soured for a moment, and she caught it immediately. “Don’t make this about how I shouldn’t be living in that home alone,” she snapped, “I must have just tripped.”

When her mother didn’t reply, she continued. “I’m worried I hit my head too hard, but I couldn’t find a phone...” 

 She looked around the cabin again, this accumulation of mess must have taken years. Her mother’s entire life was seemingly shoved into this room. Her next questions were careful, both for her mother’s sake and her own.   

“Why are we here? ...Why are you recording this?”

The old woman looked to her left, then back again. “Just focus on rememberin’ things.” She hesitated. “I wanna make sure ya don’t have a concussion.”   

She’s lying. She’s observing.   

“Just tell me what you remember.”

She stares back at her mother, wanting to point out her observations, but instead mulling over her question. Of course she remembered things, she remembers her, her son, her home. Not specifics, perhaps, but enough to know that something was wrong. She remembered what was important. The ringing, the whirring, it got louder as she thought. It kept returning to the same questions. There was a long silence before she spoke again.   

“You’ve done this before.” It wasn’t a question, but a confirmation. Her mother was quiet, but nodded. 

 “Where is Will?” 

The old woman hesitated again.She wasn’t thinking on her toes, firing quip after quip like she normally should be. Then, she was so, so quiet. It only made the whirring seem louder. 

 “Now, don’t do anythin’, just listen’ to what I’m sayin’. 

 There was a moment of hurt in her face, she saw it. She saw it but couldn’t yet explain it, it took her full attention to follow her words.

“I made a big change in the logic tree. Now this time, I made a big difference ‘tween how ya process outside information and how ya process yourself. So... it may take longer for you to make the connections, or to self assess the video data.” The same hurt passed over her face again. She was talking about her career, about her work. She hated when her mother compared her to her work. “But, I’ll be damned, this is the most like her-like yourself- that you’ve acted yet.

She just blinked back at the old woman. Her breathing began to feel labored. Was she breathing? The daze returned, and the whirring, droning, made it hard to think. She tried to keep her voice level. 

 “What are you talking about? You’re talking like I’m one of your projects.

Her mother flinched. She was frozen. Again, stunned. The hurt was so plain on her face, so glaring to her. She looked so feeble then. “Oh my lord, you’ve never not known...” 

She thinks I’m an android. 

The whining was ever louder, and the thought shot her to her feet. “No.” Why would her mother lie to her like this. This was beyond eccentricity, it was cruel. “Don’t tease me, mama, I’m not one of your androids.” 

 Her mother looked with pity at her now. Her eyes watered. “You are, darlin. I’m the one that made you. I always said If I could do it once, I could do it again.

The room was fuzzy, suffocating, dazed like when she first woke up. She stumbled over nothing, and almost fell over again. Why was her mother lying to her? Why was she lying?   

“Oh my god.” 

 “Sit back down, you need to process this!” The bite was back in her gravelly voice, it sounded so much more real than her own.

She ignored her. “You’re lying, you have to be lying.”   

She couldn’t think of why she would tell her this. No excuses came to mind. She started searching, looking the room, frantically hoping to find an explanation in the mess of her mother’s home. That machinery was from the lab​ ​ . It was the same shapes, the same brand. She’d toured it once with Will and recorded the whole thing. He’d loved it, he loved his grandmother-

“I’m not lyin to ya. Sit down! You’re not completely synthetic or somethin, but you’re-” 

“Stop, stop talking!” The whirring felt louder and louder the more her mother spoke. It was a nail against her head, and she raised her arms to block it out. The red light of the camera was still on, and she swore she could see the rate of it flickering. Her mother was still yelling at her, but she didn’t process it. Sasha was barking, adding to the dampened noise. She saw the camera, recording her, recording Will. She remembered his birthday, telling him to smile at the camera. In her memory, he looked instead to her.

She looked at her hands. They were shaking, trembling, something about them was plastic, they seemed miles and miles away from her. The table seemed so long now, her frail, twisted mother at the end of it. The interviews, they were right there, everytime right there, she’d been interviewed exactly thirty five times in this room, she remembered every single one.  

“Did you do this for your career?” She suddenly snapped at the old woman, shoving her hands down, yelling to reach her all that distance away. “Are you making some sick psyche study of me? Oh my god, did you-” 

“Oh shut up, of course not! They’d never want to back something like this, I left years ago! Ha, perfect! that’s so like her, bringing that into this” Her laugh was bitter, mocking. I am​ her! She wanted to scream. She had never screamed so loud at her mother before ​ 

“Why are you doing me this? Why did you do this? Why-” 

“Because you killed yourself, dammit!” 

 It felt like her head had hit the ground, all gravel, all rough, all hurt. They were both quiet now, through with thinking.   

She’s so hurt. She thought, looking at her mother. So hurt, so far away.​ ​  

That’s how all every test had ended, after all. Her mother asked her that question every time. 

 “Why did I kill myself?” she answered thirty five times.

  Her eyes hurt, they burned, they almost were vibrating. The whining was unbearable, drilling into her. Her mama was now crying in silence. She’s crying because her daughter killed​ herself.

“Where is Will?” 

 Her mother only looked back at her, the pain something she realized she knew.  

She didn’t ask a second time. Instead, with a jolt, she burst out the cabin. The storm was in full force, beating against her in every direction with punches of wind. Faintly, her mother followed, called after her to wait, called her name. But then she didn’t hear her mother at all, didn’t consider that the storm had swept her away.

The sky was green now, a looming, dark presence over an endless sunshine colored horizon. The grass whipped around her as she ran back to her farmhouse. She seemed to be running over an ocean in a cyclone, the ground rising and falling in violent waves. She could barely hear it over the whirring. Where is Will? Where is Will?​ 

 Then, through the dust, she saw her home.

 Across the horizon, the top half of it was completely gone. The wood was blackened along the edges. It was though the sky had torn into it. The remnants from a fire from the top down, there had never been any stairs for her to go up. That was once Will's room.   

She remembered why she killed herself. 

Faintly, then louder, there was barking. Sasha soon was upon her, nipping at her dress and heels as she held her head in her hands. Sasha nearly yanked her over, and the wind caught her as she stumbled. She faced the dog, her hair wild and her eyes wide and scared.

Sasha was a fake. Even her dog was not real. She could see the joints at the sockets of the legs poking against through a fur coated fabric. Its eyes were black and glassy, lifeless, unmoving.  It’s mouth was like a taxidermied animals, dry, unnaturally hinged, like a mask. It looked up expectantly at her, and was horrible. 

“Do I look like that, Sasha?” 

 It had been watching her the whole time.

At her feet there was a limb, blown down from the trees and haloed by fallen grass. She grasped at it and swung, over and over and over, feeling each hit in her own limbs. She couldn’t hear her own screaming over the wind and the whirring still. What moves my arms? What​ makes my voice? She couldn’t bear to think, that question made the ringing sound deadening. ​ 

Why would mama do this? 

 The smaller pieces of the dog were torn and whipped away until a shapeless mass remained, brown patches and artificial limbs. If there was a twister, she was at the center, the eye of the storm. She could feel the rumble of thunder. Everything was so far away, she was the only thing in the field now. The whirring made it impossible to see. Closing her eyes, hoping it was conductive enough, she raised her hand. Then, with the brightest light she had ever seen, brighter than sunshine, the whirring stopped.