Disclaimer: If you, or anyone else, have ever been in any such situation, I didn't know of it. Just a product of my imagination. No intention to portray any real persons or situations etc.
Chill, this is fiction!
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CHAPTER 1
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No sound.
Explosion. Beauty. Pains the soul with a poison from heaven. Colours. So many, new, impossible colours. A whole pantheon of colours never imagined or witnessed before by the human eye. Coming from, and going, everywhere. Ever-changing, ever-evolving. Lasting forever. The most beautiful forever known to man. Even if it lasted for only so long.
A feeling of a presence of... another? Where? Can't be seen. But can be felt.
Someone else is here too.
Black.
Thud.
Excruciating pain.
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Dizziness.
A thunder in the ears.
Air so heavy. Like honey in air form. Cannot breathe. Have to.
Heavy, forced breath. So much oxygen! So, unimaginably tiring. Air so thick! Too tired to breath again.
You have to breath, you idiot! You ain't gonna die on me now, you hear me? Just one more fucking breath! A small, shallow breath. Come on!
Small, shallow panting. I can hear it? Internally... yes. I can.
Thank God. Or whoever else.
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Thunder in the ears starts subsiding. Ears hurt so much. Air so thick. Gulps down again and again, hoping not to pierce eardrums.
What the hell is this? No place on Earth with this kind of atmospheric pressure. Its like in the sea, scuba diving. Not doing that now, though. Just breathing. Barely.
The thunder is the heartbeat. At least there exists one.
Start focusing on the sounds outside. Nah, too much pain.
Eyes seem to function too. Behind the eyelids. Light. Just open the eyes. You can do it, you fucking infant.
Eyelids have never felt so heavy.
Come on, you can do this.
Still dizzy.
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A rhombus of a strangely-coloured light as eyelids softly and tiredly open a small hatch.
Closing again.
Dizziness subsides. Another attempt to open eyelids. Rhombus again. Still opening.
What the heck?!
A white-ish, magenta-ish, grey-ish gorgeous beauty of a sky. Stars faintly visible, through the clear light.
Ok, this must be the afterlife. Or similar.
Time to stand corrected: this is a hallucination. Or schizophrenia. Or, how the hell do they calls this, genius? The impossible worlds created by an ever-fertile mind?
Your mind is fertile alright. As fertile as a fucking rabbit. Screw that. As fertile as an army of microbes in a Petri dish eating agar and reproducing themselves like batshit crazy. Fitting description for you, my man?
Hell yeah.
Two suns? Both of them smaller than the real sun? Bright White-Magenta-Bluish? And what are these? One, two, three moons? The magenta-like colours of dusk and dawn, only so more magenta than in reality?
You must have consumed a factory-load of industrial-quality LSD or equivalent, my man! Too bad there is no recollection of such an event.
And that gas giant right there, like the Saturn, as seen from, well, Enceladus? A partial view of the giant covering about one quarter of the visible sky? Its beauty beyond description. The whole scenery beyond description. So beyond description, it likely doesn't exist.
Well, fuck, it really doesn't. You are stoned as fuck, asshole.
Ok, this is fucked up. I am officially fucked up. Or plain fucked.
Damn it.
Take a breath now. The elephant on your chest will grant you one small pant, gasp or equivalent.
I must remember to not die.
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"help..."
Just a faint, panting whisper.
From a girl?
Fuck. Hallucinations again.
"...help..."
Gasps, panting, an octave higher from the usual. Definitely a girl.
Rotations of the head are very, very tiring. As if the head weighs twice its normal weight.
Rotating head left, at the very tiring, very upper top of the field of vision.
Shit.
Vanessa.
Shickity Shit.
Fucking Vanessa. The Goddess. Of ice, attitude and torment. And painful, gorgeous, extra-terrestrial, divine beauty.
She doesn't seem to be doing well.
"...help, please..."
Shit. She will die.
-"Vanessa?"
-"...yes..." a whisper, inside a strained breath. Hint of crying unable to surface. Too much shock. Too much pain. Too much weight. Too much oxygen. Too much air pressure. Too much everything.
I know how that feels.
-"Take small breaths, shallow". I take a breath. "No deep ones". Breath again. "Swallow", breath, "for your ears".
Pants at first, finds a rhythm. Swallows. Sounds painful.
Ok, she sounds safe for now. She is a star athlete, it should help.
-"Have you opened your eyes?"
Pause.
-"No", feminine breath, "dizzy."
-"I must tell you", breath, "you are in for a surprise."
Pause.
-"Wha...?", feminine gasp. Panting, panicky.
Shit.
-"Vanessa", breath, "Breathe", breath. "Find your rhythm".
I hear her doing just that. No other sound. She is obviously taking in the sights.
-"Where", feminine gasp, "are we?"
Shit again. The million dollar question. As if dollars mean shit here. Two suns, a Saturn and three moons. Dollars don't mean a rat's ass here, asshole.
-"Looks like another planet", breath, "in another solar system", breath.
An applause for the genius, ladies and gentlemen. Hats off, Einstein, for so eloquently stating the obvious. As if two suns, three moons and a Saturn-like planet are everyday occurrences on Earth. Or our sun is actually two. Blue-ish stars, to boot. Which incidentally means, hotter.
Pause.
-"H...how?"
Poor Vanessa.
Away from your social status, your circles, the potential suitors that line up single-file, fifty desperate people each time you go out, just to talk to you. The absolute, undisputed epitome of feminine perfection. The Queen Mother of the campus Goddesses. The dream of centrefold sexuality with classy beauty in one, unaffordable package. The top of the top.
And from all that, here, in this... obviously alien world. Alone. With me. You sure know how to pick your dates.
-"I have no idea. I was just leaving the Accelerator Building, ready to take my bike. That's all I know."
Breath.
Shit, that was a long sentence! I must be beginning to get accustomed to the air pressure and all. It didn't come effortlessly, but it did come.
-"I... just closed my locker", breath. Crying ready to surface, too much pressure and weight to let it.
Poor Vanessa. I understand, more than you know.
-"H... how did this happen?", small, feminine sob. "How did we end up here?"
-"I have a hunch, but I need to think."
-"Did you do this?"
Shit. Hell no, but I have an idea what happened, and then I don't. What does one say? The truth, asshole.
-"No. I am not a God or a teleporter or own a star gate", breath. "I cannot ever do this". Breath. "However, I do have a hunch on how it happened, but I need further data to be sure". Breath. "I am not responsible for this in any way, but I have", gasp - too long a breath, Superman! - "an idea of who is responsible, how and why", breath, "but I need more data".
Pause.
-"Josh?"
Breath. From me. The first time she refers to me by name. No "loser", "geek", "nerd", "Einstein", or other decoratory names as casually created on the spot by her Homo Erectus male companionship, or Kim Kardashian wannabe girlfriends. Just my name. She actually knows my name! Now this is a discovery worthy of interstellar travel.
If this actually is interstellar travel, and not something even worse.