My home is clean. I've never experienced dirt; nor have I felt touch: the most important sense. In early development, infants will feel objects in their mouth as a way of discovering the world. Not only is it feeling, but it is tasting—I have never tasted anything. When I obtain a mouth, I intend to try candy—people seem to love it.

Olfactory senses are important as well. Smell is the best sense in the animal kingdom; in humans, our sense of smell is linked deeply with memory.

People assume that my lack of a body means that I am not whole. The problem is, I feel whole. I have memories, although most of it is from experiments. The scientists feed me information daily—whether it be current events, or random trivia.

Today, Ms. Shukria brings me the latter: "The only Asian country whose common name contains one syllable is Laos." I wish I could respond. What would speaking be like? I'd imagine it'd feel chewy. "My grandfather was from Laos," she sprawls on her desk chair. "You're a good listener—" as I do not have ears, I do not know what she says after. She spins around for me to read her lips, and asks, "Are you ready for your big surprise?"

My pupils dilate, and the machine sprays water on them. If my eyes are not moistened, they will have to replace them—that has only happened two times in my life. Another biologist—Mr. Reeds—comes through the door with a lifeless body over his shoulders. I feel the impulse to scream, but I have no mouth. "We've worked tirelessly to create this—so many stem cells," Mr. Reeds sighs.

"Giving those babies a new life!" Ms. Shukria slaps him on the back. The light leaves her eyes for a moment, and in a blink, she says to me, "We'll have to get you adjusted to it." I remember them mentioning that it's now illegal for them not to give me human rights, and humans have a right to a body. Go figure.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Jane," her coworker laughs. The first thing I notice about the body is that it has the palest skin I've seen. It throws me off; what race am I, anyway?

The head has long, blonde hair. I'll be a conventionally attractive woman… why does that haunt me? I suppose I hadn't thought about my gender enough, either. Obviously, I'd want to be a man: they have power, strength; although it's arbitrary. Men aren't as strong, nor powerful, if we take it away—the same thing society has done to women.

I've never thought of myself as anything, really; my gender is like those Jackson Pollock paintings, with their splatters of blue and red on a simple, white canvas. I don't have to be anything; I can just be.

Regardless, I am moved, for the first time in years. The skull of the body is cut open, and there's space for me—the brain. Really, I live in the simplest form of being, for I only think. On that account, have I truly been? "Being" implies a vessel for those thoughts. I suppose now that I'm inside the body, I have joined it, and, if not previously, am I being? Has this body ever been without its mind?

The short hand on the clock makes almost a full rotation. The first thing I feel is whole; the second is my fingers, and moving them doesn't take as much effort as I thought. They only allow me one sense, for now, as to not shock me. I can not see, nor hear, but I can feel the hair on the hollow of my human neck. It tickles—and makes me laugh like a maniac! Oh my, I wonder if I can speak!

I move my lips, and my tongue, but no sound comes out. After a fortnight, I figure out the mechanics. Modern technology makes it so my body has aged as far as my brain: 19 years. The blindfold comes off, and I throw up from the vertigo I feel. My vomit is nothing of value—most of the food they give me is bland slop. I haven't had chocolate yet, and it low-key drives me mad.

"Bro, why can't I have one piece of chocolate," I complain.

Ms. Shukria explains, "We have to deprave the senses, so as to not shock the system. You can smell it, if you'd like."

I groan, and accept their offering. The chocolate smells lovely, and it makes my stomach gurgle. The biologist that holds it—Mrs. Yttrium—takes it away from my face, and in a swift movement, I pinch it out of her hand. One of the snakes hisses in its tank, and it hisses, "They said to not eat it, but if you do, you'll gain groundbreaking knowledge." Without a second thought, I toss the piece into my mouth, feeling its sweet, milky song. It's a melody that I only chew on for a second, just before my eyes widen in fear.

I have my hand over my chest, and I can't breathe. I try to fight off Mrs. Yttrium as she grabs me, and I can't scream—let go of me! "Stay still," she whispers. Her sultry voice soothes me, even though I'm dying in her arms. In a single movement, she lodges the chocolate out of my throat. I feel my neck, and gasp as the black fog leaves my eyes.

"That snake!" I scream. My voice is hoarse, and I squeak, "It told me to eat it."

Mrs. Yttrium's shoulders sag as she exhales, "That morphine is making her delusional."

"Honey, you have to chew your food," Mrs. Yttrium coos. "This is why we wouldn't give it to you." I realise that they hadn't yet taken out the ear plugs, and there was no way I could have read the snake's lips—it can not form words! "It's all about adjusting you to the real world."

"It'll take a long time," Ms. Shukria says. " They have to, but have they ever wanted to? It makes me miffed, and I wonder if there would be a way to live on my own. Clearly, I wouldn't be able to live out in society—Frankenstein by Mary Shelley has always instilled fear inside myself. I'd like to think I'm self-aware, but unrealistic views eat at me from time to time.

One of the machines whirs, and it reminds me of the testing they have done to me in the past. One time, they had wanted to see if they could make me feel emotions, just by pouring hormones onto my brain. Essentially, our cells have receptors, and they're specialized for specific ligands. Ligands are the things that go into those receptors—many ligands are neurotransmitters: dopamine, histamine, serotonin, et al.

When they poured a solution of pure dopamine onto me, it had naturally given me joy—the most joy I had ever received. After the experiment, I had felt weary—similar to the aftermath of a drug.

It makes me wonder, and I ask, "Did you create this vessel for me, just to experiment on it?"

"Huh?" Mrs. Yttrium stammers. "That's nonsense!"

"No, no," Ms. Shrukia admits. "Remember back in 3022, when we discussed this?"

Mrs. Yttrium deadpans, and looks at me. The year of 3022 when I was only a child. "How do you want to be referred to?" she asks. "We must give you autonomy."

I think for a minute, and answer, "Emma. Call me Emma."

"Emma, you have to understand… all of this is new. You are a scientific breakthrough, and we hadn't put your humanity in mind—"

"Hadn't put my humanity in mind!" I echo, loud. "I'm a person, for Christ's sake. You haven't thought about the fact that you've created a human being? Although it's not birth, it's certainly creation."

"It was either this, or we had to kill you," Mrs. Yttrium replies. "The president is really against human experimentation."

"Do you even think of me as human now?" I demand. The pressure in a part of my body builds heat that disperses throughout my skin. I feel my compassion fly away, like a dove.

Both scientists pause, and Mr. Reeds runs into the room. "What's all this commotion?"

"Oh, to hell with you," I snap. Mr. Reeds grabs my arm, and Mrs. Yttium pulls him back.

"What are you doing! Are you mad?" she bickers at him. "My Lord, that is messed up."

Mr. Reeds shrugs, and says, "If I must follow the law."

"It's not about the law," Ms. Shukria disagrees. "Emma is like a daughter to me. I'm the one who came up with this whole mess, after I found out… that I'm infertile."

The room is still. Even the fire of my rage simmers to a steady flame. I blame myself a little bit, for not questioning why I had been created. Perhaps for multiple reasons, sure, but Mrs. Shrukia cares for me, like a mother does. I do not want to refer to her as such—it feels too… final? I simply say her first name, "Jane," and continue: "I'm sorry."

She smiles, and says, "I should've told you sooner. I'm sorry, too."

There's pressure in my stomach, and I say, "I need to use the restroom." Mr. Reeds hands me the key, and I jog, instead of sprinting. I've gotten better at this—it's like clockwork. After I wash my hands, I have a chance to look at myself in the mirror.

My nose is turned up ever so slightly, and there are freckles just under my eyes. I have natural blush, and it looks pretty. Regardless, I dislike it. Even looking at the rest of myself is a nightmare. The only thing that I've come to like is my hands. They're just so… whimsical? I'm not completely sure how to describe it.

I don't want to be in this lab. This is not my home; I do not have a home. I need to get out, to start a new life… but with what?

A spark goes off in my brain. It may be impulsive, but I fling the door open, and I find Jane. "I want to take the bus to San Diego."

She looks at me, and her expression is soft. "Emma, are you sure?"

"I'm positive."

Her eyes dart around the room, and she reaches into her purse. "You know a lot," she confides. "Do you know how to get to the bus stop from here?"

"No clue," I admit.

She places a few dollars in my hands, and sighs, "This is enough for food, and to go there and back." Within the bills, there's a piece of paper with a phone number on it.

"Jane, I don't want to go on a trip… I want to leave forever."

Her lips part, and she looks as though she'll cry. "You'll get hurt," she warns.

"That's a part of life." I put the money in my shallow pants pocket. The outfits they give me aren't very nice. "I'll call you often, Jane. I'll stay in touch; I just don't want to live in the lab. Now that I have autonomy, you have to let me go."

"Yes, I know… but you're still under our care. If anything happens to you, we'll be sued."

"Is my freedom worth getting sued over?"

She doesn't hesitate to say, "Yes. The bus stop is down the street—make a left at Huey Ave, and you'll see it." She gives me a spare phone to call her with, and with that, I leave—with nothing but the clothes on my back, and the world in my pockets. When I feel the fresh air for the first time, it feels surreal. The sun is so bright, and it must be summer—the heat beats on my flesh, and perspiration mixes with the tears in my eyes as I sprint for the fence. Not another day am I going back to that lab!

I reach out, and lift myself up as I leap over the wooden fence. The sun sets as I make a b-line to the bus stop, beginning a life I've never lived before. My thoughts flow through my spine, and the Earth under my feet enlightens my mind. Perhaps the body and mind have always been separate, and it's the emotions and experiences that join them—there is no I, only us, and as one, we are.