That Girl Who Had Forgotten To Remember

"Because in a world gone mad, only a lunatic is truly insane."  Homer J. Simpson

It was foggy. Fogging foggy one might say. She was staring out that window at the immovability outside. A recent tune she had danced on the other night was playing in her head, along with the beats and a certain rhythm. The tap of her right foot was almost uncontrollable and unconscious. She was enjoying it. Something in the absence of everything outside was making her angry. Angry on society, yet again. This was one of her concerns, and she didn't like to complicate herself with many concerns, instead uniting them all into one: society. Behind her, a reasonable sized bookcase, from which she would often choose a book to challenge her mind. That was all she had ever needed. Her Window to the Universe and the written essence of it on the other side. Maybe not all she needed. She also had a study and a bed, the bed which would too often prove of the utmost importance. Nothing was happening outside and this was terrifying her. Was she the only one left? She hovered a bit over that idea. She moved her nose a little, sideways, in sings of "no". That was all that the Master Plan needed to realign the planets according to her wish. A sideways nose movement which, if you weren't paying attention, you could have very well missed.
Commoon.... coooomoooooonn! You can do it! Commoooon! Yes! Finally, she detached herself from her windows and, with a delicate modest smile, one which would pull the heart right out of your chest in the appropriate conditions, she made her way to the front door. Even if that was two falling-down-drunken lunges away, none of which were in her interest or knowledge - just the narrator's unit of measurement - the door was, seemingly, very far. First she had to put on her trench coat, (she was already dressed - it isn't in the purpose of this story to describe nude imagery; maybe another time) then deal with feminine problems such as hair, eyes, cheeks, lips and, finally, the perfume.
Her mind was already going round and round and round and round and ... too many things to think of...
Suddenly the rotation stopped. The break point was introduced by the coincidental revolving scarf around her neck. Her fine nose caught a scent. The scent of smoke. But inside it, inside the scent itself, her sensible nose identified the basic elements that composed that scent: lights, music, booze, smoke, madness... all was coming back now. She was just a little girl by day, but, by night, she was something else, something close to a party animal - the call of the wild was always struggling inside, trying to escape its physical prison.
She was sad now, a little depressed. In her constant stream of thoughts and her guilty conscience, her moves became redundant. What she didn't realize was that this, all that was happening to her right now, was not actually a punishment of her own mind, nor a revolt of her conscience. It was the influence of something bigger, something above her, something above your humble narrator, something that was punishing her trying to make her remember. Yes, remember! Because she had forgotten that "God is a DJ and Life is a dance floor".