Who Am I?
Prompt– You swapped bodies with someone. How long does it take you to figure out who you are?
Why’s this room so white, like Tami Lahren white? It’s elegant, though. Pristine. Did the cleaners just come? Jesus, look at my hands — they look microscopic. Eerily familiar, too.
Hamburger wrappers crunched up like bad ideas smatter the table in front of me, that’s already cluttered with written documents. Some have APPROVED stamps. Some read DECLINED. Some read CHECK YOUR GRAMMAR.
A big oval door looms out of nowhere — a lady draped in a red cloak walks through.
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“Praise be,” she says, hiding her face from ever exchanging any kind of visible contact, as she sets down a tray with 7 styrofoam cups with bendy straws protruding from the tops, and one gigantic BIG GULP ominously next to them. She exits the room like a hovering specter. Does she even have feet?
I sip one of the cups. Dr. Pepper. The next, Sprite. Then Coke. Root Beer. Cream Soda. Grape Soda. And lastly, Orange. I slowly begin to realize that this is a pre-graveyard soda that’s separated to ensure complete segregation of flavor. Was this the metaphor late-night TV was looking for?
It hits me — I know where I fucking am. I begin to rapidly fuse the sodas into the BIG GULP, forming one equal drink. “The sick fuck before me would never do this,” I think. The fizzy, rainbow concoction—that could give hippos diabetes—crackles like a fire.
I take a big swig and set the drink down. I begin assessing everything in front of me. I’m going to change this place. Regulate Social Media. Tweet for good. Reforms. New policies.
But, NO!
I accidentally placed the drink on the BIG RED BUTTON in my out-of-body fury of rebellion. It looked exactly like a coaster. Def-con 5, here we come. Yee-haw.
