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.
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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.”
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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.
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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.