Smoke and Signals

Experiment complete. Status: Failure.

“Wynn. Good morning, Wynn.” A bird three shades darker than that of the light grey sky chirped from a thin branch outside a domed glass window that sat as the roof of Wynn’s home.

The bird’s voice was distant, as if an echo at the back of her mind. White sunlight filled the room, illuminating dust particles suspended in the air and casting shadows from the tall trees that looked down into the room. Wynn lay stretched out on her bed, her body encased in a thin film of liquid, while she stared up at the bird as it repeatedly called out to her.

She closed her eyes against nature’s incessant alarm. “One sheep, two sheep, three sheep, four.”

Minutes felt like hours as they passed, but Wynn couldn’t sleep.

“Wynn. Good morn—.” A high-pitched clink hit the glass as a branch snapped and rolled down the roof.

Wynn opened her eyes in time to see the bird take off into the grey sky, with grey clouds, and watched as the wind whipped around grey feathers that fluttered into even darker grey and black trees.

A dry mouth and sore throat wouldn’t keep Wynn from staying in bed all day, but a groan scratched up her throat as the smell of something burning, sharp and bitter, filled the room. She threw her legs over the bed before the bird decided to come back and disturb her again.

The film that surrounded her wobbled and kept her from fully touching the shining floor as she crossed the threshold into a simple office. The swivel chair blended into the white of the thick block desk, which blended into the walls and carpet. Shadows cast by the sun and the smoke billowing from the small printer on the desk were the only markers for the furniture in the room.

Wynn waved her hands through the air to clear the smoke as she walked over to the printer, which was covered in soot. The soot coated Wynn’s hand and turned it a few shades darker as she reached for the pile of papers that was collected in the output tray and strewn across the floor.

The paper turned black where she thumbed through it. Her eyebrows pinched together as text appeared. They all said the same thing: outside—once and small at first, then larger and repetitive.

Wynn’s hands shook as she felt around for the change in level on her desk. As soon as her fingertips met the bump, she pulled open the top panel of her laptop and ran her fingers over ‘8-9-C-F-F-0’ to log in. Her dress was rough against her skin and drafty as she hurriedly sat in her office chair and went to her emails. Bumps covered her skin as she saw hundreds of unread emails that said: ‘outside’ on the screen, with no sender.

Though futile, keyboard chatter echoed in the small room as she typed out ‘who is this?’ and hit send. Seconds later, an error message indicated delivery failure–attempt outside.

The film around Wynn shuddered as she pushed herself back and jumped up from her rolling chair.

Pacing the room, she scratched at her head and mumbled to herself. “Who’s sending all these messages to me?”

She grabbed a soot-stained piece of paper off the floor.

“What a waste of paper and ink. Outside? What about it?”

Sunlight poured over her as clouds parted, creating a burning white light as it shone on the tall white walls. If Wynn had found a way to stack all her bookshelves, books and all, on top of her desk, it’d still be impossible to see over the walls through any part of the house.

Sweat broke over her brow. She set the paper on her desk and headed toward the foyer. Also squared and all white, except for the black shadowed corners, and a towering grey door with steel wire ropes and electric cables that covered its edges.

With a penetrating stare and pursed lips, Wynn’s eyes roamed over the door. She stood in the middle of the foyer in silence for a long moment, jumping when the printer whirred to life again.

“Today’s the day.” She whispered to the room.

Wynn rolled up the loose, long, white sleeves of her gown and pulled out the thin, matching belt to tie up her black, coiled hair. She sized up the door before walking up to it and gripping the brick-sized, lever-like handle with both of her hands. A white fog covered the handle as she released a breath, then pulled it toward her.

First, a chorus of rhythmic clunking vibrated through her body, followed by a scream of air escaping from the left side of the door. Wynn placed a foot against the wall for stability and pulled harder. The screaming air turned into a deep groan before pushing through the room and forcing her back in a flurry of limbs. The surrounding film erupted into a sphere, stopping Wynn’s body from crashing into a wall. A loud thud and click echoed in the room as the door pressed itself shut.

Wynn’s labored breathing evened out as the film reshaped itself around her.

“We’re only getting started,” she clapped her hands together and positioned herself in front of the door again.

Again and again, the pressure from the door thrust her back, and again and again she tried to open it. Until her gown stuck to the sweat on her skin, and the sunlight was no longer beating down on her, lost somewhere beyond the walls of the house.

Wynn walked into her office again. The printer was throwing small sparks into the air, and a new pile of paper accumulated on the floor and in the tray. She opened her laptop to more messages, all still repeating ‘outside’ in various fonts and sizes. A headache pulsed behind her eyes, and she rubbed them with the bottoms of her palms, throwing her head back against the headrest.

“Door, door, door.” She said. “We’re trying something different today.”

The wheels of her chair squeaked through the house as she rolled it in front of the door to the right. She balanced herself in the center of the seat and reached up toward the ropes and cables. A cold, tangy scent filled her nose as she brought her face close, inspecting the frayed wires and divots that lined them, then ripped them out from where they were sealed at the bottom, leaving them bound at the top.

“What to do? What to do?” She sang.

The wires bled into one another—grey on grey, indistinguishable. Wynn hovered her fingers over them, waiting for a difference that never came.

“A guess will have to do then. Either I fry you, or you fry me.” She lightly placed her hand on the door.

She pondered a moment longer, twisting the loose wire between her fingers.

“One, two, three, four. Choose the wrong one, and I’ll be no more. One, two, three, four.”

She dropped two of the four wires and shrugged before forcing their frayed ends together. A deep, powerful roar filled her ears with a thrust of air, followed by a blinding light as she felt her body losing the fight against gravity. As the light cleared, she felt thin, stiff, and rough fabrics rub against her skin as she slowly rose on a cold steel table. Wynn’s eyes adjusted as the light shifted from red to yellow to violet while rotating on the ceiling and gleamed off floor-to-ceiling glass walls. Her eyes adjusted beyond the glass, and she noticed figures leaning forward—smiling, waiting—each individually surrounded by a thin, iridescent film as they stood on tiered stands. Only the sound of her labored breathing filled the small box room as nerves sent shocks through her legs while she struggled to move off the table.

Applause erupted and thundered through the glass when her bare feet met the coarse and gritty ground. The figures were grinning from ear to ear. A moment later, a crackling, monotonic voice filled the room overhead.

Experiment complete. Status: Success.