I’m a professional crash test dummy. As you might imagine, it’s rough work. RIght now, my hip hurts like hell. Some people say that I must have hit my head on one to many dashboards. I kind of just fell into the business. Literally.
I was up in a tree one day. This particular tree overhangs a major road, at a point where the road curves rather sharply. There are a number of dents in the tree are evidence that a fair number of drivers fail to make the turn.
So this big Mercedes came around the bend a little too fast and rammed into the tree, jarring me loose, and I fell right through the place where the windsheild had been (it blew out) and landed in the passenger seat.
For some reason, this triggered some kind of fit in me, and I couldn’t move a muscle, but I could see and hear and feel everything around me. It was really freaky. In any case, they thought I was a passenger in the car. The driver was dead. When I was so non-responsive, they put me in a hospital, to see if I would come around.
After a while, it seemed like I was going to be this way for a long time, and, since I couldn’t afford health insurance, and the hospital wasn’t getting paid, they decided to rent me out as a crash test dummy. I was paid good money—or, at least, the hospital was. It’s kind of rare to have a human in these crashes, but they figured since I’m non-responsive, it probably didn’t matter. Unfortunately for me, I feel every damn crash in almost every sore part of my body, every time they use me.
Sometimes it’s a long time between crashes, and my body gets a chance to heal. Sometimes I feel like I’m coming around—maybe even about to regain control of my body, but then something happens. I’ve begun to think the hospital is keeping me in this living coma with a very low dose of curare.
I should probably ask if that is possible. Anyway, there’s this computer at the nurse’s station and I’ve figured out it’s security code. I’ve learned to manipulate the EEG machine, by controlling my brain signals. In this way, since the EEG is hooked into the computer over the wireless network, I’ve learned to hack into the computer via a backdoor built into Windows XP. Using this, I can control the browser in the bacground (even while the nurses are using the computer—and always cursing the hospital for giving them such a slow machine). That’s how I can fluther all day.
If I stop showing up here, either they’ve “upgraded” the computer to VISTA, or I’ve been in one crash too many. I’ve never told anyone this before, because I didn’t think anyone would believe it, but if anyone would, they’re probably here on fluther.
Anyway, you’re probably wondering why I haven’t asked for help befor, if I’m being misused this way, and slowly poisoned with curare. They say my liver is not doing well, and I’m getting a bit green around the gills. Sometimes they say I’m jaundiced.
I guess I’ve never asked because I don’t think anyone would believe me. Another reason is that I haven’t really been thinking straight, what with depression and the knocking around my head has taken. Can you imagine what it’s like to be bipolar in a body that’s in a coma? Nope. Not a pretty sight.
Also, I have no idea which hospital I’m in. You’d think I could figure it out through the computer, and believe me, I’ve tried, but I can’t seem to get to that information. All I know is that the nurses and aides are always talking about Mercy. Mercy Libertarian is what it sound like to me, but that can’t be it.
Anyway I thought I’d “come out” so to speak, in hopes that someone might believe me, and try to find me. Of course, the hospital will never admit to my presence, since it isn’t quite legal to use a guy in a coma as a crash test dummy.
So…. help?