Fiction & Photos
Pulse
For a long time after, I had the same recurring dream.
The air currents pulled me through the tube, suction funneling me down under the water and along the seafloor. Green and blue light flickering on my skin. When I inhaled, it was like trying to breathe in a gust of wind. It was like a child's worst nightmare of a waterslide; a strange endless ride down an oversized birth canal that was twisted into reverse, a reverse evolution in which I was returning to the water of mankind's proto-amphibian ancestors.
And too soon, I was reaching the end of the line, rushing towards a brighter light, my fingernails scraping futilely across the seamless, smooth plexiglass. The air currents sped up and I tumbled into a room, a round room, with no gravity; I floated head over heels, the momentum of my entrance carrying me towards the perfectly spherical walls.
I could easily have been impaled, and I sighed with the closeness of that outcome. The center of the room held a massive round object, suspended, made of glassy tendrils that radiated from some unseen core, semitransparent and blindingly reflective. The tendrils were like frozen tentacles of ice, beautifully delicate yet deadly sharp, like the freeze-dried husk of a giant jellyfish.
I bounced off the wall, and with horror, I floated inexorably towards it.
I woke up. Again. It was 4:43 a.m. Again. In seventeen minutes I would have to get up for work and take the elevator down to the sub-basement where I was removing the last of the asbestos.
***
This post was inspired by Light by Flickr user TSCarlisle. I have no clue where this is going, if anywhere. Maybe asbestos removal is not an appropriate profession for this narrator, but it was all I could think of at the time...And why is it called Pulse? I have no idea.
The air currents pulled me through the tube, suction funneling me down under the water and along the seafloor. Green and blue light flickering on my skin. When I inhaled, it was like trying to breathe in a gust of wind. It was like a child's worst nightmare of a waterslide; a strange endless ride down an oversized birth canal that was twisted into reverse, a reverse evolution in which I was returning to the water of mankind's proto-amphibian ancestors.
And too soon, I was reaching the end of the line, rushing towards a brighter light, my fingernails scraping futilely across the seamless, smooth plexiglass. The air currents sped up and I tumbled into a room, a round room, with no gravity; I floated head over heels, the momentum of my entrance carrying me towards the perfectly spherical walls.
I could easily have been impaled, and I sighed with the closeness of that outcome. The center of the room held a massive round object, suspended, made of glassy tendrils that radiated from some unseen core, semitransparent and blindingly reflective. The tendrils were like frozen tentacles of ice, beautifully delicate yet deadly sharp, like the freeze-dried husk of a giant jellyfish.
I bounced off the wall, and with horror, I floated inexorably towards it.
I woke up. Again. It was 4:43 a.m. Again. In seventeen minutes I would have to get up for work and take the elevator down to the sub-basement where I was removing the last of the asbestos.
***
This post was inspired by Light by Flickr user TSCarlisle. I have no clue where this is going, if anywhere. Maybe asbestos removal is not an appropriate profession for this narrator, but it was all I could think of at the time...And why is it called Pulse? I have no idea.
Add a Comment
-
Comment by TadMack on October 15, 2007 at 12:16pm
- Hee! Your story titles are like mine -- I write them first and then go - "What the hell?" And frankly? Asbestos removal is also nightmare producing. Trust me.
About
Groups
© 2009 Created by Donal Murphy on Ning. Create a Ning Network!
You need to be a member of Ficktion to add comments!
Join this Ning Network