There is a slight sting in your mind.  Like a brief hangover, that dissipates almost instantaneously.  This is how the typical experia begins.  Your head is connected to several emitters that manipulate your neurons.  The process allows for you to experience a fully recorded memory in taste, sight, touch, sound, and even smell. 

            The device is called Sandman’s Crown.

            You have just become an audience of a cognitive experia. 

            The experia is a media, casted with virtually recorded corporeal superstars like myself, Mira Dusani.  The job we do is service to mankind.

            There are two sets of actors necessary for the experia.  The vessel and the corporeal.  The vessels are typically played by stunt-doubles who have a strong psychological profile.  Looks are generally unimportant as their faces are never recorded.  These vessels wear a bodysuit known as the Botchi-glove.  This suit contains millions of sensors that record tactile stimuli.  The Botchi-glove allows the vessel to do whatever they want to the corporeal and the sensation is downloaded into the experia.

            I’m a corporeal. 

            We are what you get to do stuff to.

            We are the big sister guiding you through the jungles of a treasure island, for the rated-PG crowd.  We are your mother cradling you to sleep as we read you a bed-time story for the rated-G experience.  We become the boss you get to murder with that fully-automatic rifle for the R-rated audience.  And we are that 1950s airline stewardess you screw at forty-five hundred feet, for the X-rated experia. 

            As the vessel-actress rolls on the botchi-glove, I start going over the script.  I have to get all the lines right, this ad campaign is the first commercial for a new product of the Mama Mira Line.  My first role since I gave birth.

            “Infant stasis technology has reached new, innovating, heights,” I say after the director nods.   “With Mama Mira’s the Womb-Naper, you get a full-night’s rest with the peace of mind of a healthy baby.  Unlike other slumber chambers, the Womb-Naper only provides nutrients from precious breast milk as your little bundle of joy is held in perfect stasis.  The Womb-Naper can only be used in certain intervals, but still provides the mother with a five-hour break period from the colicky babies that absolutely refuse to go down for nap.”

            These are my scripted words.  They are honest and genuine and certainly describe a product that saved me from postpartum depression.  Before pregnancy, I was Mira Dusani, not Mama Mira.  I spent most of my career auditioning for lead-rolls in high budgeted pieces, but often got type-casted into dumb babes for soft-core experias.  It was a little demeaning, but my Instagram got up to a hundred and fifty million followers.  Then pregnancy gave me a new opportunity.

            I’m holding Annabella’s hand and leading her through the set.  As the corporeal, I need to lead the vessel to the product.  The slumber chamber is seated in the middle of a hospital-looking set.  The walls are a pale emerald and there is a window that glistens a bright sunshine.  I still have Annabella’s hand in mine.  Her Botchi-glove reads my warm and gentle grip.

            In front of us is a medical stasis chamber next to a mother’s hospital bed.  The hospital bed was my very own, in fact, purchased and specialized for my maternity needs.  All the actresses were doing it at the time.  All the major ones, at least.

            “This Womb-Naper uses state-of-the-art technology.  Originally designed for prematurely birthed angels, this device uses the medical machinery responsible for saving nearly three million lives.  There certainly won’t be any premi-syndromes in this magical device.”

            I let go of the vessel’s hand for a moment.  Annabella grazed her hand over the warm gel-glass the model-infant was entombed within.  They have to let the Botchi-sensors feel the device.  Make it real to them.  Make it more than just a commercial.

            Then I take her hand again.  Annabella accepts my lead as I take her through another door.  This time we’re in a rather fabulous nursery.  The space is surrounded by lilac-painted walls that hold a number of thinly-framed art-prints displaying silly aliens, unicorns, fairies, and happy dogs. 

            “And once you bring baby home, you’ll have the ability to get a full night’s rest,” I say, relinquishing Annabella’s hand again.  The Womb-Naper in this room was adorned with a fluffy garland along the exterior as the interior glowed with a warm yellow. A real baby about to wake, inhabited the Womb Naper.

            We have the scene perfectly timed to remotely open the device.  Little Lily awakens by condition.  I pick her up and swiftly put her in the arms of Annabella Rodriguez, who promptly cradles Lily.  We get about five seconds before the wailing erupts.

            “Cut!”