Flushed!
2009
The blue marker moved in my fingers as I used it to write a reminder on my other hand. Math test tomorrow, it read. I smiled, pleased with what I had written.
“Look, Alex! My handwriting looks so neat here!” I placed my hand in front of her face, showing off my little accomplishment. Her eyes widened and she moved her sandwich from her lips—her mouth then opened to form a small “o” when she looked at my hand.
“What?” I frowned.
“Don’t write on your hand, Kaylan!” she scolded. “You’re going to get skin cancer!”
I paused for a second, waiting for her to start laughing, but she continued to look at me with concern. It was my turn to be scared. Almost instinctively, my hands began to rub the writing off. Yet, the writing wouldn’t budge.
“I’m gonna go wash it off!” I yelled back to Alex. My legs took off running and doors flew past my eyes; before I knew it, I was in front of a sink.
I pushed down on the handle of the sink, but it was one of those sinks where the handle had to be lifted. Funny, I thought. I don’t remember the sinks being this way. I brushed the thought aside and lifted the handle—immediately I felt the cool stream of water on my skin. I scrubbed harder and harder until there were no visible traces of ink left. My muscles relaxed and I let out a sigh of relief. I left as I heard the sound of a toilet flushing and made my way back to Alex, waving my freshly-cleaned hand. “Free of skin cancer!”
She started shaking uncontrollably and her laughter filled the air. “Kaylan,” she breathed, “I was kidding. You won’t get skin cancer from writing on yourself. Well, maybe if it was a toxic marker.” She had to take several breaths of air in between her words to continue speaking.
I crossed my arms defensively. “You could’ve told me that before I—” I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Hey, weren’t you just in the boy’s restroom?”
I spun around to see a boy looking at me with expectant eyes. “What?” I asked.
“I just saw you in the boys’ restroom,” he repeated with a tinge of annoyance.
“No! Why would you even—” I closed my eyes, struggling to remember if I had turned left or right. Left was the direction of the girls’ restroom. I couldn’t recall, but suddenly the image of the sink with the different handle appeared in my mind. Then it all clicked. I did go into the boys’ restroom.
“No. That wasn’t me,” I lied. Beads of sweat danced on my hands and I prayed, prayed that this guy would drop the subject.
“Are you sure? I could’ve sworn it was you. I mean, I remember seeing your shoes,” he said, gesturing towards my shoes. Airwalk slip-ons from Payless. Black with pink detailing. No more than $10. Definitely recognizable, though. I shifted my feet, heat rushing to my cheeks.
“I’m sure it wasn’t me. Can you stop asking me now?”
He gave me one final look before shrugging and saying, “Yeah, whatever. I still think it’s you.”
He walked away, leaving me more afraid than I had been when I had thought I was going to get skin cancer. Tears welled up in my eyes. There was nothing I hated more than embarrassment and the mere thought of him spreading this story around made the tears rush out.
“Kaylan, it’s okay. I’m sure he was bluffing.” Alex rubbed my back sympathetically, knowing that she was to blame for this. I wasn’t going to point fingers though, considering I just had the finger pointed at me.
“W-what if h-he tells everyone?” I stammered.
“Don’t worry. He has no reason to tell everyone. People walk into the wrong restroom all the time. You’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be fine,” I told myself, but I couldn’t make myself believe it. I wished I was brave enough to laugh this whole situation off… but I wasn’t. All I could think about was whether he would tell anyone. I was already the new kid; I didn’t want to be the new kid who went into the wrong restroom.
Riiiiiiing! The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. My stomach dropped even lower. Slowly, I dragged my feet towards the classroom. I have to go.
“Kaylan, I heard you went into the boy’s restroom!” someone exclaimed.
I closed my eyes. Only 657 more days until promotion. Please let those days go by quickly.
2014
My hands were folded neatly in my lap as I waited for the next question.
“What is your most embarrassing moment?” the facilitator asked the group. I glanced around the room. Everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats while I chuckled softly. Here goes nothing…
“It was in the fourth grade,” I started.
Six Feet Under
The air was filled with a quiet emptiness. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with pillows of clouds. A loud noise erupted from above, disrupting the picture perfect scene that stood just seconds before. Cracks began forming on the ground; it formed intricate patterns that no human could ever replicate. With each rumble, each crack grew bigger, and his panic soared higher.
There was a second of stillness before it became clear that something was falling towards him, getting closer and closer.
The asteroid made contact with the ground with a loud thud. Billows of dust lay suspended in the air, preventing anything from being seen. The dust slowly settled down, leaving only the lonely silence that was prevalent from the beginning.
*******************************************
He woke up from his dream, shaken. Drops of sweat trickled down the side of his face. This dream was strangely familiar to him, as if it wasn’t the first time he had dreamt it. Surely, he thought, this had to mean something. He reached out to grab his water bottle, but his hands were met with nothing but air. Confused, he opened his eyes. Fluorescent lights instantly flooded his surroundings, blinding him momentarily.
When his eyes refocused, he began to take in his surroundings. The room was a small one, with rows of lights lining the ceiling. He lay strapped to a table in the center. His wrists were bound to the table with thin, metal strips that appeared to be easily pliable. To his dismay, they didn’t budge when he tugged at them. All around him plastered on the walls, however, were giant screens with his image displayed on it.
“Where am I?”
He was quickly answered with high-pitched feedback. He winced at the noise. “Good morning, Harry. Glad to see you’re awake.” The sound came from a small speaker hidden behind a screen.
“I-I don’t know what’s happening,” he managed to squeak out. His voice was barely a whisper; the fear was evident in his face. He could feel his pulse quickening, his breath slowly moving in and out of his mouth.
“Harry, you are in the Laboratory. Don’t you remember what happened?”
Harry started to shake his head when he realized he was still strapped to the table.
“Stay right there, Harry. I’ll come and release you.” A few minutes passed before the door to the room swung open. A tiny, old man stood in the doorway. He was no taller than five feet with a back curved at an angle Harry didn’t know was possible. He inched towards Harry and removed the straps. The skin was red and raw where the straps dug into it; blood trickled down his arms and fell onto the floor, staining the shiny, white tile.
“Where am I?” Harry repeated, determined to get an explanation.
The old man chuckled. “Harry, I’ve already told you. You are in the Laboratory. Why don’t you take a few seconds to think about how you got here.”
His mind drew a blank. “I can’t remember.”
“Well, you see Harry,” the old man started, “you are special. Gifted, I might say. Never in all the years I’ve been alive have I seen a mind like yours.” He paused and looked at Harry with expectant eyes, as if it would trigger a memory. “No recollection? Okay. Let me explain. Harry, you are able to see into the future through your dreams. That’s why you are here. We need to run some tests to see if your abilities are… accurate.”
“I don’t believe you. Who are you? Where is my family?” His voice was filled with unease and worry. The old man caught on and spoke in a softer tone.
“I am Dr. Cohen. I am the one who is going to guide you through this whole process. As for your family, I’m sorry to say that they all perished in the Crash years ago.”
“The Crash?”
“Yes. An asteroid crashed into the Earth, killing most of the human population. You and I are some of the few survivors left.”
“You said years. How long ago was this?”
“4 years ago.”
*******************************************
The needle pierced through Harry’s arm, injecting a bright pink liquid into it. “What are you giving me?” Harry managed to sputter out. It was difficult for him to process everything he had learned moments prior. His talent, his family’s death, his lengthy coma—it all seemed so unreal.
“It’s a sleep-inducing serum. It causes you to fall into REM immediately, where your dreaming occurs. The stages of non-REM sleep are shortened, seeing as they aren’t needed for this purpose.”
“Oka—” But before Harry could finish, he drifted into a timeless slumber, entering the realm of his subconscious. The last thing he saw was Dr. Cohen pouring a liquid out of a small vial.
Harry appeared in the same compact room as before. He heard the slight click of the doorknob turning. In Dr. Cohen entered, holding a syringe filled with a red substance, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. The minuscule gleam in his eyes told Harry that something was off. The air became thick with uneasiness. Harry found himself breathing heavily once more. Dr. Cohen moved closer, slinking like a rattlesnake. He was the predator and Harry, the prey. Dr. Cohen reached out and grasped his neck. His grip was tight; with every squeeze, Harry felt his lungs constricting. One last squeeze would do it. One last push.
*******************************************
He woke up from his dream, gasping for breath. His hands were shaking and his lips quivered. Beads of sweat covered his entire forehead. He lifted his sleeve to wipe it off.
“Nice dream you had there?”
“N-no. I-it wasn’t.”
Harry looked up to find himself an inch apart from Dr. Cohen’s face. Up close, his wrinkles seemed more prominent, and his eyes less friendly. The amicable glimmer in his eyes had been replaced with an impish glint. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a knowing smirk. He had one hand behind his back, but the other was placed delicately on Harry’s shoulder.
“Harry, while you were sleeping, I figured out your brain structure and chemistry. I studied everything—from the memories stored in your cerebral cortex to the emotions you feel in your amygdala. I know exactly how to recreate and implement it into my own brain. In fact, I’ve even made a few adjustments that make mine better than yours. I will be able to control the outcome of my dreams, and ultimately, the future.” He let out a soft chuckle. “I won’t be needing you for your assistance anymore. Sweet dreams, Harry.” Dr. Cohen smiled, plunging the syringe deep into Harry’s forehead.
Harry took a glimpse of the red fluid held in the needle. He reached an arm out to grab the old man, but his arm fell limp. The muscles in his body seized up and then—everything faded to black.