Molly's Backstory - Part One - A Good Dog

She just wanted to be a good dog...

Molly was a good dog. She liked people and they seemed to like her. They said she was a good dog! She got lots of treats and praise but then one day she was taken to a place where they stuck pointy sticks in her and had her run a lot and measured things. The people talked in raised or hushed voices and she learned how to be a good dog for these new people.

She could feel her head getting fuzzy but she still wanted to be a good dog! They said she was "doing very well" and that they would "monitor her progress" and she was happy because she was a good dog! She loved people and she loved being a good dog! Sure, the pointy things hurt, and it was hard to think and eventually feel things sometimes, but she was loved(or so she believed) and she was good(so she knew, with ALL her heart and emotions), and eventually when there were only a few scraps of conscious thought left, she still knew, with all that was left of her being, that she was meant to be a good dog.

And so she was. She just wasn't quite an alive dog anymore... but still good!!!!
She is just a little melancholy(though not quite aware enough to recognize it as a feeling) because she has this stuff in/on her head that makes it hard to move around and do dog things. She doesn't realize what they've done to her. She doesn't *realize* anything really; her mental faculties are limitied now since she became a JellHead. But she still has dog instincts because even a "dead" dog is a dog at heart. It's hard to completely remove Dog-ness from a Good Dog, after all, even if it's all that is left.

And she is still very much a good dog...

- - -

...but is she?

Molly still feels Dog, to the incredibly limited extent a being such as her is able to feel anything. But is all as it seems?

Visions of another, like her. One that did not make it through the "process".
Distressed people in white coats scrambling to collect shards of something.

Something lost.

Should a dead dog be familiar? What is familiar when you have no real, tangible feeling? No identity other than the leftovers of a once-alive dog?

The people don't stick pointy things in her anymore. They don't say "Good dog, such a good girl, Molly!"
They don't say "We're gonna make big-time cash with this restoration". They don't say "Well done Molly" and they don't give her pats and treats.
They don't even look at her.

They've moved on.


A door left ajar and a world of white beckons the once-dog outside...