They called for me, screaming a name that wasn’t mine. I did not listen.
Past a lobby I came to another door and I felt my skin run cold as I placed a hand on the white tile next to it with my mind racing: Open please open!
It flashed green and the door receded, and through it were stairs that led me down and down as though diving under a wave to the ground floor that seemed to have taken forever to reach and I arrived in another room. There were too many doors and I kept thinking which one which one which one!?
One slid open, a pair of girls in unassuming, beige and white clothes bespoke them as servants, yet they walked with eased confidence, behind them a cart of folded towels and what looked to be cleaning supplies. They met my gaze, surprise falling over them, and in that moment I ran past them and out the door with mania in my steps.
It was in a courtyard that was lush of green plants and of concrete and stone paths that branched before me, lamp posts methodically placed that they led you into a daydream yet it was blurry for everything passed too fast for my destination was anywhere but here and there and not behind me but to a two-story wall of solid marble white.
I could still hear them call out to me, and a name came to focus: “Thelamine!”
Merging with a cliff of grey and black rock, the perimeter was continuous, damp in such a way that it bespoke a humid environment, with the air lukewarm and wet in a way that reminded me of Mediterranean weather.
At the far end, there was a closed gate and so I ran to it in a trampling stampede straight through a garden thick with flowering bushes and tall trees as I almost felt guilty for the briefest of moments.
The gate was of a black metal with an electronic lock and knob, joined to the archway by hinges. If it was locked I knew simply breaking it open was not an option.
My hand grasped the knob, twisting it counter-clockwise and it did not budge. Crap!
Looking up, I noticed a gap, between the top of it and the archway, that I could squeeze through. It is possible, very possible.
Almost tempted to try the knob again, I instead backed away. My head pivoted back to the rock face, for in its surface were various nooks and crannies I could use to climb up and over the wall, and yet the prospect did not reassure me of an escape. The extent of my rock climbing had only been in indoor gyms with the benefit of gloves and a harness, the more-than-three-story heights conquerable in such gear. Falling off would prove hazardous. No, not doing it.
I turned about to the sound of alarmed voices and saw the pair of beige and white girls from before hastily approaching around the curve of the structure I had escaped from. Turning back to the gate I tried again twisting the knob but this time clock-wise and it still did not budge. Crap!
Searching for something to unlock the gate I spotted a white panel outlined in red and yet pressing it only made it flash the same color yet to be certain I twisted the knob again. The gate remained locked.
The gap then!
My hands grasped the top of the gate with a jump. It was strenuous to pull myself up with my arms screaming. Resting my chest on the edge, I hefted my lower half up and over. My heart pounded, pounded, and pounded when I felt a squeeze to my head as it slid through, feeling panic when my arms were caught for the slightest of moments. Move your fat ass, move!
Their footsteps drummed against dirt and stone, their voices chattering in panic, “Dayel Thelamine, vmrianoli aras lricur! Eaara hol col colaluli su mrianory!”
My chest finally slid through, followed by my right leg, then the other. The drop was hard as it was severe, for there was a resounding thud and a sudden shock.
Grunting, I eyed through the bars of the gate, seeing one of my white shoes on the ground. It must have slid off.
Taking a step I hissed, feeling something sharp from my big toe and the ball of my foot, and in my ankle. The sound of an opening gate made me ignore the feeling as I bolted.
I found myself running from a wide avenue down narrow streets and passed strangers and white buildings between rows of unfamiliar plants while dodging pedestrians and a strange golf-cart sized Starship bot, the thing looking smoother with wheels larger and on sturdier suspension but it gave me the impression that the only harm it could do was deliver your groceries rotten.
More buildings and more streets, hued in whites, beiges, and in various greys, with one of its walls plastered in colorful graffiti, that of evocative, scantily dressed women in suggestive poses. Much of the architecture was far too round and minimalistic yet organic in a way that it despises blocky efficiency in favor artistic expression. It reminded me of what you would see in Mirror’s Edge, a view of something utterly utopian or dystopian.
There were more pedestrians, those seemingly feminine, dressed in an array of colorful clothes, of benign and exotic hair colors with fair or tanned skin. They gave the impression that they were strangely otherworldly rather than European, eternally alluring rather than beautifully flawed, permanently youthful rather than aged (like fine wine, or something like that). Nothing else was noticed.
A group congregated in front of what looked to be a grocery outlet, shouting as I passed, darting into another alleyway.
Where the fuck are the police!?
They’re not going to help you, my rational self countered.
More pedestrians, more streets, more neo-futuristic buildings, more strange plants and more strange automata–some of being similar to that cart, others akin to those robot dogs but larger and nimble (with one of them jumping out of my way), for the place seems to go on miles, its streets curving and joining in some unknown grid, and it was maddening.
I rounded another corner, stumbling into someone tall. Hands latched onto my arms with strength, gentle but firm.
The person… she wore a navy-blue vest and dark, sleeveless shirt with clear authority, with pants made of a solid Kevlar-like material and leather(?) boots. Strapped to her thighs is a grey baton, and a firearm (a glock?) long, colored white and trimmed yellow, both holstered in black straps. Her strikingly red hair flowed to a short pony tail, her expression grim but clearly surprised. Any guy that could gaze upon her would clearly see that she was attractive, yet it was something she disregarded with the way she stood and gazed at me.
Managing to break free from one of her grasps was a struggle. “Dsalsad?”
“Please, let go!” I almost shouted.
The officer released my other arm, raising her hands in a calming gesture. I backed away, tumbling into a bush and nearly tripping. That sharp feeling shot up my leg as I stepped the wrong way, forcing a hiss and bending me over.
“Dsalsad, hol eaara rieff?”
She slowly approached, but I backed away as I eyed her for some sort of badge. Only her uniform spoke for her.
“Law enforcement?”
Confusion morphed her expression. I tried elaborating, “I need help! I was kidnapped!”
Were you? Is this your excuse?
She still remained confused.
“Who do I go to?”
“... Tudie sahauir?”
Another desperate plea had been about to leave me, but that persistent voice finally broke through: You need to stop!
I backed away, my eyes remaining steady on her.
Look around, what do you see?
I looked around, noticing another tall woman of the same uniform and weaponry approaching. She had the same colored hair cut short to the nape of her neck. They looked nothing like typical officers.
I looked at the onlookers, their clothes and fashion very unlike what anyone in California would wear, chattering amongst themselves as they gestured.
I looked at the buildings, noticing how unlike they were to anything in San Diego, Los Angeles, or San Francisco.
Is this still a dream? My rational self challenged.
… I don’t know.
Look up.
I could not look up to the sky. I did not want to…
Look. Up.
Above, a blue gas giant floats, high above where the Moon should have been.
This is not home.
This is real.
Last night was real.
“Dsalsad?” the officer repeated.
Spikes and pin pricks were felt across my skin, my stomach jumping off the proverbial building that all preceded the spinning sensation and lightheadedness, and I started stumbling, running, sprinting since it was the only response that could be mustered that in a clumsy state, bumbling past the officers, both of whom backed away even as pain shot up through my foot far more pronounced.
I felt something wet in one of my hands, in my peripheral something red dripped profusely from my fingers.
Oh hell!
They again called, “Thelamine!”
Down a some avenue and toward a perimeter wall was a large gatehouse wide open to a roadway, one stretching through a field of green and blue, on one side a forest standing over the land as though a tide of eucalyptus and poison oak, swallowing the right-most horizon. This is freedom!
This is freedom.
Freedom…
… And it is all for nothing.
I stopped, feeling wobbly on my feet, simply staring, knowing that beyond the walls lay more unknowns and the promise of insanity. To flee this place would mean to lose myself, a sacrifice of civilization’s surety. Then and there I damned myself, deceived that I could “wake up” and go home, having lied to myself that this was anything but an alien world.
Behind me, that tall asylum remained, the center point of this place, and it now felt less akin to a prison. I turn back, yet I freeze, a cold uncertainty and a dead chill running along my spine.
The wall to my right met my failing body as I tried containing that nausea. Don’t barf.
Adrenaline wore off, and the pain became unbearable from my hand and foot. Don’t curl up.
I let myself fall slowly. Simply standing was too much.
This is all too much.
Larger crowds surrounded me, the red-headed officers now around me, joined by a third with marble white hair who approached from the side. There was another robot (or it looked like one), humanoid in shape but donning thick armor, bulky and tall with a helmet of a non-transparent visor, grey yet trimmed red; its arrival a clear show of force, a power play to invoke peace (or was it to force my hand?).
Everything else was a blur.