E. Catherine Tobler
She was a papalla juice bubble, round and wet. She felt herself rising up through the endless clear liquid. Cold, smooth, the liquid slid over her, caressing each millimeter of her spherical body. Up and up she went, she felt the pressure building. Her form was beginning to change; another bubble brushed her and she contracted into an oval, rising more quickly. She thrilled at the ascent; the liquid felt thinner here and there was the surface. She tried to recoil from it, but she touched it and gently popped open. She exploded in a thousand iris petals. Deep purple, thrown into a blue summer sky. She fluttered down in a hundred different ellipses, scattered by a warm wind. It carried her, this way and then that, around in a spiral that left her breathless and tingling from ruffled head to narrow haft. The wind spun her around and then she felt the tug of gravity yank her down. When the wind bolstered her back up, she shrieked in delight, whirling. The sky around her was a blur, but it began to fade, from blue into black.
The black closed around her and she swirled with sudden light. She felt herself contract, then expand, pushing the limits. She was a sphere again, turning, vomiting light from her very core. A ball of seething energy, heat poured out of her; she could do nothing but throw her arms wide and let it go. It roiled like the surface of an ancient cauldron, hurling through the blackness toward an unseen destination. She liked this form—she was powerful in this form. Around her, she could feel the energy—thousands of comparable stars—but she wanted to be the brightest. She reached for them, pulling their energy toward her, shoving their hot, metallic masses into her hungry mouth.
Violent waves of energy flew out from her, slamming through the heavens. Color erupted against the blackness, ruby merging with amethyst, emerald stabbing through royal. Where her center had once been, there was now a black smudge. She watched it all as if in reverse, feeling herself stretch out across the starscape. The stars burned themselves into her back and she cried out at the sensation. Hot pinpricks of light, searing her—but it faded and vanished.
Gravity was having its way with her again. She let it take hold, smiling as she came down through cream-white clouds. Whispery tendrils of mist clung to her as she fell; she reached out, digging her hands in, grabbing all that she could. It was colder than anything she had known.
Color slid across her vision, sunset painting the sky in the distance. She was out of the clouds now, sinking through the evening sky. Below her, the grass came up in a verdant rush, cool, welcoming. And there, a river; a sapphire ribbon, looking as though it had been discarded by a careless hand.
She reached for it, but was drawn to the grass, coming to rest amid the green shoots. She stretched out, feeling her physical form return. Familiar sensations—toes curling into the grass, arms stretching, back arching. Night air flooded down over her and she rolled, grass pricking at her chocolate skin. It tickled, like the tongues of a thousand different men, all jabbering at her, vying for attention. She dug her fingers into the rich earth, pulling the loamy scent into her nose. She laughed and rolled, dropping into the cool river.
Down into the clear water, her feet touched the smooth stones that lined the bottom, bubbles rushing up past her. She felt a kinship with them, but couldn’t say why. She reached for them, strained toward the surface with them. As she burst through, she spied the man standing on the bank. She smiled up at him and he extended a hand to her.
Her wet fingers slid into his grip and he pulled her from the water, wrapping her in the warmth of his jacket. He guided her from the river and she walked beside him, the grass now licking at the soles of her wet feet. She had never been this happy. This was joy—this was being inside joy. It was a hundred thousand days of joy—endless. She could hear the world around her and it screamed with happiness. She echoed the cry, feeling truly alive.
The river grabbed her. Its cold, wet hand wound itself around her, yanking her backward. She was ripped from the ground, jacket scattering in her wake. She reached for the figure, but he was retreating into a small black pinprick on the horizon. She screamed, air and sound torn from her throat, while she tried to catch hold of the ground and hold on.
Colors rushed past her, colors she had never dreamed of, colors that made her nauseated. Heat flared and retreated, burning her, freezing her. Bubbles scattered in her wake, flower petals retching into the sky. She tried to grab them, but they fell through her fingers, something that could never be caught. No—I can’t leave this—not now! Not ever!
The river pulled at her again, slamming her down into the ground. Her breath rushed out of her, but she tried to dig her fingers into the ground, ignoring the pain inside her body; the ground crumbled away in chunks of dark cinnamon and her anchor was lost.
She left the world, back into the blackness. Energy tingled along her body, the grass faded into the dark. Gone—it was all gone. She could feel the hardness beneath her cheek and she slowly opened her eyes.
Feet. There were feet.
Guinan realized she was lying down and she pushed herself up, looking around. She found herself surrounded by dozens of people she knew hut didn’t know. They were her people, yet she didn’t know them by name. They were draped in rags, faces dirty. They were crying, confused. They were not listening, even though that had been their way for so very long.
She forced herself to come to her feet. The air here was warm and recycled; it was not the fresh air she had been breathing only moments before. Guinan staggered out of the crowd, toward the nearest wall, a dark corner. She stood there, burying herself in the darkness, praying for the joy to return. She was one of forty-seven who had been saved, but why did she feel so lost?
“You’re going to be all right.”
Guinan felt the hands on her arms and she turned, staring blankly at the man who held her. He was taking her somewhere, but she didn’t care where. Nothing could compare to the nexus; nothing ever would. All she wanted was to go back; to lose herself in those feelings. She groaned, feeling the hot tears slide down her cheeks.
Please, take me back.
She wanted to say the words—but couldn’t. Please. Oh, please.
Perfectly round and wet. A thousand iris petals. It wasn’t too much to ask—but she couldn’t say the words.