It took a moment to gather his thoughts upon waking. The last remnants of the dream were cascading down into the depths of his subconscious as a waterfall would off a steep cliff. He grasped onto a thread of it and held it there in his mind.
It was that feeling of serenity, that peaceful acceptance of the inevitable. He wondered what would have come after, if that moment of tranquility segued to something else, something...beautiful and wondrous that defied imagination.
He speculated what would have been had his father not pulled him out of the sea.
He didn't recall drowning...but then he didn't recall being revived by his father on the sandy beach either. He remembered only waking in the clinic with his parents at his bedside, his mother tearfully squeezing his hand and his father staring at him with an intensity that made him feel like squirming.
The boat...had that been real or a figment of his imagination?
"It was real," he whispered aloud.
He had begun to talk to himself with frequency, but only when he was alone. It felt...right, helped him to focus...made everything seem more concrete.
"Sia, what is the time?" he asked.
"It is 1:13am."
Her voice was gentle and soothing, though slightly concerned. You had to listen very closely to notice the clipped ending of the words when she spoke; crisp and artificial.
"You are up very early, Quentin. Did you have a bad dream?"
"The same dream."
"Would you like me to call Dr. Blatty?"
"No. It's a bit too early for that don't you think?"
There was a pause.
"You are correct. It would be inappropriate to call at this time unless it is an emergency. Is this an emergency?"
Quentin sighed.
"No."
He could tell she was analyzing his sigh. If she was capable of such trivialities he was certain he would have heard an 'hmm' in his head as she contemplated.
"Since you are awake would you like to hear your messages?"
He sat up, the last vestiges of sleepiness gone from his mind.
"I have messages?"
"You have one message."
"Play it for me, Sia."
There was a slight intonation in his head like a chime or a whimsical bell. A moment of nothing and then he heard the rustle of wind, the labored breathing. He knew it was her before she even spoke.
"Hey, it's me."
She sounded excited.
Quentin felt his pulse quicken and sat very still, as if the merest movement would dispel the message.
"Meet me at the edge. I'll be there at three," she said. "And don't be late."
There was a brief rustling sound he could not discern and then she was gone.
YOU ARE READING
Akropolis
Science Fiction"Any thought you ever had; memories, desires, your fears and your dreams, are all recorded and stored safely in the Quantum Cloud for your eventual revival. Death is now merely a transitional period to the next stage of your existence. As a QUBIT...
