"Um...can I call you Cori?" She asks politely.

Legs crossed on the chair next to my hospital bed sat, Wilda Q.

She held in hand a pen and pad, which she fiddled with continuously.

Her pale fingers reminded me of my silk satin scarf that used to lay on my bedside.

I'd wrap it around my hair every night, it kept my hair nice and neat and looked stylish and felt comfortable.

I bet her skin felt as soft as my scarf. It would be nice if so.

She is pretty, in the 'my job is my life' way. Her features make me question her race.

I look at her and guess she must be Asian or White or a mixture of both.

Regardless her race, she appears brilliantly stunning in her short skirt and suit jacket of matching grey shade.

I palm the sheets of my bed that was entirely too uncomfortable.

It feels so... different. It was too...soft.

Perhaps it's caused I have grown so used to normal people's discomfort that their normal comfort is now bizarre.

I look at the lady in front of me. She probably wore heels and drank wine every day.

Probably, went out on dates or had flings with numerous unimportant men.

She probably lived a different life from mine.

Strange how much a few weeks could change a girl...

I used to be Wilda. Drinking wine, dating cute guy's, and complaining about the pain my feet were in from pretty heels.

But now....now it seems far ago. A distant memory.

The old life I once had felt....gone. Dissipated. Mere weeks have made me and my mind feel...changed.

It's as if that old life is a dream. Never happened, might not ever happen.

I am who I am. Rebel, no last name.

I am no longer Cori Durkens, she's a figment of my imagination.

I am Rebel. No last name. One who is punished for her disobedience.

Punished for the longest of my fellow companions.

Now I am punished more by having to endure the most treacherous fate.

Life. I get to live till tomorrow.

Such a horrid thing...

But maybe I should be who I truly am.

Without. Without a name, love, or reason to live.

I guess that's my name.

But I'll just be simple. And give her a somewhat decent name.

I shake my head in dissatisfaction. Then turn to Wilda and answer her with a head shake 'no'.

She looks at me and then asks what I felt had an obvious answer.

"Then what shall I call you?" She asks.

I don't hear any accent. Perhaps I was incorrect about her ethnicity...

Deep in thought about her possible heritage I am swiftly interrupted by Wilda Q.

She coughs to gather my attention.

Seems as though I have waited far to long to respond.

"So...what do I call you Ms Durkens?" She queries.

I stare at her with no telling eyes. I watch her squirm as I do so.

I smirk for a second, then let it disappear into my normal straight faced look.

It's humorous to watch the weakest squirm.

Sadistic? Perhaps. I shouldn't be thinking this after all that has happened.

But after weeks of forced induction I don't truly care anymore.

After this interview I'm dead anyway.

I motion to Wilda to give me her pad.

She looks at me questionably but complies and passes her possession to me.

I write with her pen, a fancy thing that's end pops up when you twist the cap on the bottom.

As I do she looks at me in curiosity. Her eyes molding into my face.

I knew, cause I felt it. I feel her looking at me intensely.

But I ignore it for now, though my instinct was, at first, to attack any watchers or onlookers.

People who observed, people who stared at me intensely and with any interest....now? They unnerve me.

I finished and pass her the paper. I wrote a full paragraph in my neatest scribble. I hope it will appease her curiosity, for I wasn't willing to divulge more today.

She looked at it and read. I studied her reaction as she does.

First off Ms Wilda Q , I don't speak. Speaking is deadly...I will converse with you on this, I will tell you what happened during that test project.

I go by Rebel....