Lost Atoms

Chapter 11

My eyes are sticky, as if sealed with glue. It takes an immense effort to open them, and even then, I see nothing. I'm not seeing darkness, or light. It's just an absence of seeing at all. The best way I could describe it is like if someone tried to see through their kneecaps. Impossible.

But then, out of nothing, there's a small particle. It's still surrounded by nothing, but it's as if I've regained a tiny speck of sight. At first, it's this vague, dark grey particle, almost like a dust mote floating in the air. It's fuzzy at first, but growing as I focus on it. It becomes brighter and closer, as if I'm approaching a distant dirty window that clears itself as I near. I'm not blind. Relief floods through me.

Relief–a sensation I haven't felt since I've... awoken? But no, that's not right. "Awoken" doesn't capture it because I wasn't asleep. I was something beyond asleep. Maybe even beyond dead. Erased? Yes, erased feels a more fitting word for the time between my two existences.

There was so much pain when I was erased, but the memory of it is quickly dissipating. I cautiously lift my arm as my vision continues to clarify. It's fine, beside a twinge of soreness, not unlike the feeling after a good fitness routine. But I haven't worked out in a few days. What did this machine do to me?

The device must have opened a crack when I heard the click earlier, but I push the hatch above me now. Light floods in, and I wonder if I'm about to get shot by a zoner. But no, I'm here alone, and experiencing something even more unsettling than having a gun in my face.

Where am I?

I'm still in a hospital room. At least, I think so. But it's different. This room is bigger, and there's a large mirror across one wall. I look at my reflection. I don't look like my atoms have been torn apart, but that was definitely what it felt like. When we were younger and we did the nuclear strike drills, I would imagine the feeling of a nuclear explosion. Well, I'd imagine it felt like that.

I pat my hair down a bit, and see a framed painting reflected over my shoulder. It depicts a raging river, punctured by pointed rocks jutting from the surface. Frothy white spray dances above the water, complementing the different shades of blue.

I look away and am drawn to a desk that is much better kept than the one where I came from. A few binders, a monitor, and a glass sphere sits on top. Inside the sphere is a tiny plastic city, which resembles New Niagara slightly, yet it's filled with water. Intrigued, I lift the small globe. Upset particles of white that were resting on the bottom twirl through the liquid, and as I flip it over, their motion transitions into a miniature snowstorm.

But this model doesn't make sense. We don't get snow inside the dome, only outside. And it would never flood like it's portraying; our city has sewer grates that open to drain the water after rain day.

I put the dome city down and press my ear against the door. I don't hear gunshots or voices. I push through the door.

A piercing alarm blares nearby, its shrillness causing me to jump. I'm in an unfamiliar hallway, hastily exiting a door that says, 'DO NOT ENTER.' I only have a second to look left and right before a man in a uniform enters a door at the end.

"Did you go in there?" he asks, pointing at the door I came from. He's wearing a black suit with several pockets, similar to a zoner, but it lacks their familiar logo. Most notably, he's not wearing a white mask, and doesn't have a rifle.

"No, I just came out through it," I say, before realizing how stupid that sounds.

"A comedian, eh?" He grabs my arm.