Node: 001
Pain. It’s the last thing I remember before I wake up in a new place awash in white and a new world is revealed. One unexpected.
Closing my eyes and opening them several times doesn’t change what I see. But what I see cannot be. The wired humans are all around me in their metal boxes, stacked in endless stacks to endless heights. The boxes have their canvas curtains drawn back so I can see them dangle like puppets on strings. Empty spaces around each individual stack let me see rows and columns spreading out and on and on.
The ceiling and floor are lost somewhere in the expanse, a space flooded with bright white light from sources unseen and not just from above. My heart beats faster and faster. Sucking at the air doesn’t help, for I can’t catch my breath even though I gasp and gasp.
Suddenly, I realize there is something in my mouth, extending down my throat. I gag and cough, trying to find calm, trying to drink in the air, but I can’t.
All I can think about is breathing. Finding air and breaking free.
Pulling at the chains doesn’t help to free me regardless of how hard I twist and writhe. No matter, I continue to fight, to struggle, to will myself free.
Going limp to test how well the chains on my wrists hold my weight does nothing. Trying to kick with my feet does nothing.
Closing my eyes, my thoughts shift to the chains. How they are attached. Where they are attached. How they are clasped. Where they are clasped.
Remembering isn’t as easy as it should be. It’s as if I look back through a thick fog. The images swim and shift even as they try to come into focus. It’s not me. It’s something else.
In one of our gatherings, we found bottles of a liquid that looked like water but wasn’t. Drinking it burned our throats and made our heads swim, much like my thoughts swim now.
Trying to remember clamping the chains about my ankles, fixing the chains on my wrists, I catch a glimpse of one image. One image that matters.
It’s of me, holding on to the right chain and using my fingers to flick the final clamp into place. It’s one of the last things I did before nothingness found me. That image I fight to hold onto, even as a twist and writhe.
Oh, Luke, what have I done? I tried to follow in your footsteps, to find you. I found nothingness instead.
Is this what you found?
Is it why you never returned?
Why none have ever returned?
I see flashes of sunshine through transient clouds. I feel wind fluttering on my cheeks. I hear receding laughter, bare feet on wet stones. I want to follow, to see who is with me.
The rain is soft at first, then a steady drizzle.
No matter, I run on. Is that a tree? Is someone standing there in its shadow?
“Luke, Luke,” I call out, but it’s not Luke behind the tree. It’s me. Me reflected in a looking glass. In my reflection, I see a narrow face, wide, round eyes, and long, straight hair the color of sunshine.
Looking at my reflection isn’t something I do often. In fact, it has been a long time since I last looked. A lot can happen between looks I know. My cheeks are thinner. I’m a little taller and my hair is longer, but it’s me. Me and my blue, blue eyes.
I frown a little. I’m plain I realize, not pretty like Sierra or Celeste.
“There,” I say, catching a glimpse of something in the looking glass. I turn, expecting to see Luke, but it’s not Luke. It’s me, reflected in another looking glass.
I stare into my own eyes for a moment. I realize the tree’s gone, that there are looking glasses all around me. Nothing but looking glasses as far as I can see.