Dream
There's an explosion in the lab. Seems minor at first, but then the column of gas ignites. Donovan (Sarah Craig's husband) is trapped on the other side. He can't get past it with out burning his hands again (they had been burnt before, I don't know why, but this time was much worse) as he passes them through the flames. I agree to take him to the ER but the lab is in a hospital, so after I trip and fall I point him in the right direction and he takes himself.
Andrew and I are driving around later. He needs to sleep but can't. PTSD from the explosion? He needs to confront what happened in order to sleep. We pull into a parking lot, but it's in front of a warehouse, not the hospital. I point this out. "This is where it started." We go inside. They are doing experiments empowering people, non-sensitives, to be able to manipulate reality. They are nice and excited, but something feels sinister. We leave the warehouse on the otherside and it smells like brine. Not refreshing like the ocean, though. Rotten. It bothers me and our guides walk us to someplace higher up where I can't smell it. They're talking to us, pointing out features of the larger facility. Below us a man in a suit is walking with a man in a heavy rain slicker; a wide brimmed rubber fisherman's hat flopping over his head. The sinister feeling peaks and for a moment I see the shape that the rubber clothing is meant to conceal. The arched spine and plates of exoskeleton. "He's a shrimp. That's the source of the brine smell. We have to get out of here."
We start heading back to the car. Something terrible is going to happen. We have to get there before the stop us. We reach it, and I open the passenger door and scream. Andrew is asleep in the car. I turn; he is no longer standing next to me. Our deviant timelines have merged. I briefly explain what has been happening. He remembers it as a dream he was having. We have to get out of here. I climb into the car as he throws it into drive and begins racing down the wooded exit. Guilt. "I hope you're the real Andrew. That I didn't just abandon him in that place." A glance. It's unspoken. You can't think like that. We don't have time.
We are on the tracks the company uses. We couldn't just leave by the driveway. Night has fallen as we travel up and down through the woods. I am explaining about the "shrimp" as we pass giant glowing eggs. Some we get close enough to see the fetus inside. "What are those?" I say, expecting them to prove my shrimp story. "Cats" he replies. They don't look like any cats I've ever seen, but I can see why he says it. "Cat's eat shrimp. Maybe he was a slave race." "Maybe."
We've made it to roads, but there is a wave coming up behind us. Not of water but of ... something. Something awful. Reality is unravelling and the consequences are about to crash down on top of us. We pull into an alley. We feel the wave crash. "Whatever happens, stay in the car." Time lines merged here. Reality, is stronger inside our bubble - as long as we don't break it.
There are other people in the alley. It's secured by a gate. On the mainroads though, is a sea of cats. We can hear them. Do you remember that scene in the book A Clockwork Orange where an old lady is devoured by her own cats because she just had too many. They are hungry, and feral, and there are enough of them to overrun anyone. But we are safe in the alley. But the other people hear the meowing. We know it's menacing, but they are consumed with a manic enthusiasm. "We must go out and see them, and take them in," Austin explains to Maggie. "Because we're cat people! It's what we do!" She's grinning as they run towards the fence, pulling in others to join their race towards death. "Don't acknowledge them, pretend to be asleep." They tap on our windows, and try to get us to join them, but a few sleepy grunts and dismissive handwaves and they give up. They don't have time to waste on us. They're climbing the fence. So excited, so enthusiastic. Is this what rats infected with Toxicplasmosis are like? Would I recognize those rictus grins if I knew more about rodent emotions?
They're over the fence. They're gone. Some may survive, but it's unlikely. We continue to sleep. Fading from feigned to real and back again as more people pass through the alley trying to lure us into whatever self destructive impulse is consuming them. We mustn't leave the car. The pressure of the crashed wave is pushing down on our bubble. It could be popped from the outside if they tried hard enough, but with no feedback from us, they divert their attention elsewhere. But even sleeping is dangerous. Removed from any ability to care about consequence, is sleeping all day not one of the things I might destroy my life by choosing? Perhaps this is why they do not wake us. Because we already are trapped, just more quietly.
The alarm rings. I'm awake. This is reality. The rest was just a dream.
Wasn't it?
Andrew and I are driving around later. He needs to sleep but can't. PTSD from the explosion? He needs to confront what happened in order to sleep. We pull into a parking lot, but it's in front of a warehouse, not the hospital. I point this out. "This is where it started." We go inside. They are doing experiments empowering people, non-sensitives, to be able to manipulate reality. They are nice and excited, but something feels sinister. We leave the warehouse on the otherside and it smells like brine. Not refreshing like the ocean, though. Rotten. It bothers me and our guides walk us to someplace higher up where I can't smell it. They're talking to us, pointing out features of the larger facility. Below us a man in a suit is walking with a man in a heavy rain slicker; a wide brimmed rubber fisherman's hat flopping over his head. The sinister feeling peaks and for a moment I see the shape that the rubber clothing is meant to conceal. The arched spine and plates of exoskeleton. "He's a shrimp. That's the source of the brine smell. We have to get out of here."
We start heading back to the car. Something terrible is going to happen. We have to get there before the stop us. We reach it, and I open the passenger door and scream. Andrew is asleep in the car. I turn; he is no longer standing next to me. Our deviant timelines have merged. I briefly explain what has been happening. He remembers it as a dream he was having. We have to get out of here. I climb into the car as he throws it into drive and begins racing down the wooded exit. Guilt. "I hope you're the real Andrew. That I didn't just abandon him in that place." A glance. It's unspoken. You can't think like that. We don't have time.
We are on the tracks the company uses. We couldn't just leave by the driveway. Night has fallen as we travel up and down through the woods. I am explaining about the "shrimp" as we pass giant glowing eggs. Some we get close enough to see the fetus inside. "What are those?" I say, expecting them to prove my shrimp story. "Cats" he replies. They don't look like any cats I've ever seen, but I can see why he says it. "Cat's eat shrimp. Maybe he was a slave race." "Maybe."
We've made it to roads, but there is a wave coming up behind us. Not of water but of ... something. Something awful. Reality is unravelling and the consequences are about to crash down on top of us. We pull into an alley. We feel the wave crash. "Whatever happens, stay in the car." Time lines merged here. Reality, is stronger inside our bubble - as long as we don't break it.
There are other people in the alley. It's secured by a gate. On the mainroads though, is a sea of cats. We can hear them. Do you remember that scene in the book A Clockwork Orange where an old lady is devoured by her own cats because she just had too many. They are hungry, and feral, and there are enough of them to overrun anyone. But we are safe in the alley. But the other people hear the meowing. We know it's menacing, but they are consumed with a manic enthusiasm. "We must go out and see them, and take them in," Austin explains to Maggie. "Because we're cat people! It's what we do!" She's grinning as they run towards the fence, pulling in others to join their race towards death. "Don't acknowledge them, pretend to be asleep." They tap on our windows, and try to get us to join them, but a few sleepy grunts and dismissive handwaves and they give up. They don't have time to waste on us. They're climbing the fence. So excited, so enthusiastic. Is this what rats infected with Toxicplasmosis are like? Would I recognize those rictus grins if I knew more about rodent emotions?
They're over the fence. They're gone. Some may survive, but it's unlikely. We continue to sleep. Fading from feigned to real and back again as more people pass through the alley trying to lure us into whatever self destructive impulse is consuming them. We mustn't leave the car. The pressure of the crashed wave is pushing down on our bubble. It could be popped from the outside if they tried hard enough, but with no feedback from us, they divert their attention elsewhere. But even sleeping is dangerous. Removed from any ability to care about consequence, is sleeping all day not one of the things I might destroy my life by choosing? Perhaps this is why they do not wake us. Because we already are trapped, just more quietly.
The alarm rings. I'm awake. This is reality. The rest was just a dream.
Wasn't it?