Cellmates

2

She didn't sleep that night. If it really was night. The torches around the room dimmed as if by magic all at once, as the room was bathed in a warm orange glow. Over and over she turned on the tiny cot, but with the sad remains of a mattress, it was like sleeping on a rock. And it wasn't especially warm down here, so the fact there was no blanket made it even worse. She shivered, clutching her clothes. Her tank top and shorts had been appropriate for a warm summer day back home, but now she was really wishing she'd worn a sweatshirt.

Turning over again, she found her cellmate in exactly the same spot, sitting on the floor against the wall beside a very large pile of books. His eyes were closed, but how could anyone sleep like that? And why would he? She had noted already that for some reason, his white cubbyhole was sparsely decorated with furniture that hardly belonged there. And he had a bed. A real bed with real bedding and expensive looking sheets. She didn't even concern herself with the idea of fairness. But she felt obligated to wonder why he – who had a bed – was not sleeping in it.

Maybe he was meditating. Though he seemed a bit too relaxed for that. His arms hung lazily over his knees, and his chin almost touched his chest. No way he was conscious. And besides, he hadn't moved in hours. She glanced at his tray of food. After a few moments of careful observation, she could tell someone had at least started fussing with it. But she'd barely caught a wink of shuteye. Surely with this proximity, she would have heard him get up. I guess not.

He stirred and she quickly turned back over, staring up at the ceiling. It wasn't much to look at. Only more white.

A few moments passed before she turned over again. Her breath caught in her throat when she met his gaze. The warm light reflected off his eyes as they might a cat's – without thinking, she turned back over. She could have sworn she heard him laugh – low and quiet under his breath. The very idea of the sound gave her chills. She rolled toward the wall, staring into the blaringly white wall, attempting to forget he was there. It didn't work. All she could think was that he was watching her. Even with that layer of glass between them, she didn't feel any safer. Not that she felt safe at all in captivity worlds away from home. But his piercing gaze was the icing on this disgusting cake.

Running a hand over the cold metal bed frame, she took a closer look at the cuts on her hands. The glue was a faint pink from the blood and it was already peeling at the edges. She mindlessly picked at it as her mind continued to swirl. The events that took place in New York – all of the news reports she'd seen – filtered through her brain. The attack came out of nowhere. One moment it was simply another day in the city, but the next, an enormous wormhole in the sky was spewing alien creatures that clearly didn't come in peace. A year later the city was still in a state of repair. A year later, they barely had an explanation for what had occurred.

The conspiracy theories rolled in full force. Since the beginning of human civilization, man spoke of beings from another world but there was never any proof to be found. It only made sense that when proof was finally dropped in man's lap, he didn't know how to handle it. In the end, they were all caught with their tails between their legs. So the media swelled with panic and had it not been for this team – the Avengers – the entire world would still be trapped in an unending fear for what they couldn't protect themselves from.

The entire thing was surreal. Even now, after being abducted by aliens and teleported to another planet. For now, she was in this blissful state of acceptance because waking up from this nightmare was still a possibility. She feared that when the reality finally set in, it would be a freak out for the record books.

With that in mind, she was thoroughly enjoying her foggy state of ignorance. She imagined waking up back home, entangled in sheets, face nuzzled in her pillow. This place would only be memory, half remembered from her last REM cycle. In a matter of minutes it would disappear completely. After a long shower and a quick breakfast, her boring routine would resume, but subconsciously she would be thrilled that she was anywhere but here. This imagined horror story. Maybe she'd even call up her sister and regale her with what she could remember. At least someone could be entertained by such misfortunes. Life would go on again. But only until she awoke, still in a very white cell, in a very dark dungeon, and a long long way from home. Maybe it is real.