Sticky Lips

His lips were sticky and felt gross. He didn’t like the feeling—the texture. He didn’t have a headache yet, but it was a reminder to drink more water. The cold air outside wasn’t helping things; it drew whatever moisture was left in his mouth away. Still, the sun was shining, which helped raise his mood.

He checked his watch: 3:15 PM.

Running late, he mildly chastised himself. He picked up his pace, calculating if another route would be a bit faster. No, just go straight. It’s fine.

It had snowed a lot the night before. More snow on top of the snow that was on top of the other snow. Life in the snow belt, he mused.

He felt the cold air enter his lungs on each inhale. It was fresh and oddly relaxing.

He checked his watch again: 3:17 PM. He picked up the pace a little.

His son would be out of school at 3:20 PM. It wasn’t that it was a problem if he wasn’t there right away, but it made him feel like he was letting his son down. His son had autism level 1—or what they used to call Asperger’s. You wouldn’t know it to talk to him unless you knew what to look for, but he could be very particular about timelines and schedules. And he was only ten years old. He’d come a long way, though. He used to be really inflexible in his thinking, but over the last year, he had become more willing to try new things, like different foods. He was very proud of that. Not that the man could take credit; it was all his wife and the various therapies she had coordinated.

His son was a good kid. Kind. Smart. A great friend to his older brother who had been sick for the last year.

The walk was usually about 10 to 15 minutes. He had his earbuds in, listening to a podcast. It was a national politics show. He liked to stay on top of the latest news, which at least in Canada seemed slightly less insane than the news out of the US. He always felt the need for background noise. Walking with his thoughts was often unpleasant because they consistently drifted to the negative. Hell, they would often make up scenarios that had never happened in the past and wouldn’t likely happen in the future. It could be torture. So, he liked having others talking in his ears to drive the inner critic away.

The man stopped walking and stood for a moment. He breathed in the cool air with his eyes closed, reminding himself to slow down.

His thoughts were interrupted by a vibration on his wrist. It was a message from his son, asking where he was.

Crap, it’s 3:23.

He replied, asking his son to start walking and meet him at the corner of their street. He knew his son didn’t love to walk on his own, but the man didn’t see the point of making things take longer just to walk all the way there only to cover the same ground again.

Black.

Everything was black.

Was he falling? He was falling. Or more like floating downwards.

What the hell is going on?

He started trying to grab something, anything. But there was nothing.

Falling.

Ground.

Maybe not the ground. But he had stopped falling. He was still in the dark.

He stood up, but he wasn’t sure he was standing on anything. He wasn’t able to feel anything when he stomped his feet. But he could walk. He tried to walk around in wider and wider circles.

Then he saw light. Well, not light, exactly. It was still dark, but he could see clearly.

Where the fuck am I? He thought.

He looked up to see if there was a hole, but there wasn’t. No circle of daylight.

Fuck.

His mind began racing. How do I pick up my son?

My son! He remembered the text on his watch. Lifting his wrist, he swiped to the messaging app and tried to send a message.

Your message failed to send.

He tried again.

Your message failed to send.

He could see, but his surroundings were strange. It was… blurry? He hadn’t brought his glasses with him, but he didn’t need them that much, so it wasn’t his eyesight. Maybe shimmering? He wasn’t able to perceive any edges or even a shape. Was he outside? Inside?

Sound? No sounds.

He glanced at his watch again. No service.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. No service.

He thought for a moment and realized the only option he really had was to pick a direction and start walking. It took him a moment to decide because everything looked the same. So, he just started out in the direction he was already facing.

He was a bit disoriented. His brain didn’t have the usual indicators to help it understand if it was balanced. He could see, but felt like he was almost blind. Eventually, he found his cadence and kept walking.

He glanced at his watch to see how long he’d walked for. He chuckled to himself that his expensive smartwatch now only worked as a timepiece.

He walked for about ten minutes. Seemingly not getting any closer or further from anything. Still not hearing anything. He realized it wasn’t as cold as it had been. But he wasn’t sweating either, despite still wearing his winter jacket.

He licked his lips and realized again that he was thirsty.

“I would love a drink right about now,” he said out loud, to absolutely no one.

He remembered that he had promised his boys that he would take them for Slurpee’s after school. Guess they have to wait, he thought.

He kept walking.

He rolled over. Groggy.

What? Why am I on the ground? I feel like I just slept for eight hours.

He looked around.

Green. Everywhere.

He laid his back on the ground, sighing.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh,” he let out a scream.

Red.

What is this place?

Green.

He mentally scanned his body to check for pain. He felt okay.

He sat up and then stood to his feet. He still felt okay. Looking around, he still didn’t see much definition. Just shimmer.

His thoughts drifted to his family.

Pink.

He was starting to get really anxious. His son was likely still waiting for him at school, unsure of what to do. Would he see his family again?

Blue.

Why does the colour keep changing?

Red.

Does it? Is it changing with my mood?

Yellow.

A sense of curiosity and excitement overcame him.

Orange.

I wonder. Fuck. Shit. Damn.

Red.

Think of my family.

Yellow.

He tried evoking a few different emotions to test his theory. Each time the colour changed.

Cool, he thought. Can I use this? Can I think things into existence? Like the replicators on Star Trek?

I know. I’m thirsty. I need water.

He looked around. No glass appeared.

He tried again. Thinking harder.

Nope.

Oh, well. Thinking of nothing better to do, he started walking again.

The colours weren’t solid. They were more of a gradient, shimmering like gentle waves. He put his hand up, trying to touch the colours, but never found anything solid. But then, he still didn’t feel like he was really walking on anything. His footsteps didn’t make a sound.

He kept walking.

What was that?

Was that a sound? The first sound he’d heard this whole time.

Where was it coming from? He turned his head trying to see the source or allow his ears to triangulate the location. He started walking in the direction that he thought it was coming from. It was like white noise.

He kept walking.

Purple.

The sound was getting louder. The louder it got, the more defined it became.

Was that water? He thought.

He was getting excited now. He picked up his pace to a fast walk.

He was wet. He was… in a pool?

He wasn’t drowning; he was just wet up to his neck. He used his hands to try to scoop the water to have a drink. Just a little at first, then a few more handfuls. It tasted like water, but it made him feel… energized?

It wasn’t a buzz. It wasn’t like caffeine; it just gave him energy. And he wasn’t hungry anymore.

He laughed. “What is this, miracle water?”

What the—!

He was being dragged down, under the water. Down, down, down.

Struggling to swim up, he couldn’t. Whatever it was pulled him further down.

Then all of a sudden, it stopped. In a panic, he started swimming upwards again. Kicking harder and harder. Pulling himself up and up. Feeling the pain in his lungs as he tried to hold his breath.

How far down had he been dragged? He looked up. He couldn’t tell where the top was. Everything was the same damn colour. Swimming up and up and… Shit.

What the… what did I hit? Did I hit a ceiling? Did it freeze over?

He frantically searched for an opening. Nothing. His lungs were on fire. He didn’t have any oxygen left.

His brain screamed for oxygen. It forced his mouth open. Gulp. In came the water. Oddly, it gave him more energy. He kept fighting. Hitting with all his strength. Which wasn’t much at this point. He thought of his sons, his wife. He pounded the ceiling with his fists.

The water started shimmering. His arms became heavy and uncoordinated. He was flailing now. He started to lose his peripheral vision.

Hold your breath.

Keep fighting.

So tired.

A voice said, “Daddy?”

Yes, son.

I’m trying.

“Daddy, are you okay?”

I’m trying.

Black.

Silence.

Daddy?

Andrew, can you hear me?

Andrew, wake up!

Light.

Groggy.

Blurry.

He felt the cold on his face.

What?

He felt a sharp pain in the back of his head.

What… what is going on?

His vision came into focus.

His son was there. And his neighbour.

Andrew was soaking wet.

“Are you okay?” his neighbour asked. “Don’t move. We’ve called an ambulance.”

What happened? Andrew asked, his voice weak.

“Your son found you lying on the ground and came running to my house. Smart boy you’ve got there.”

Yeah.

“I think you must have slipped on some ice, fell into the slush, and hit your head. You’ve been out for at least five or ten minutes.”

Oh, man.

Looking at his son, he saw the leftover tears on the boy’s face.

It’s okay, buddy, Andrew said, reaching out a shaking hand. You did a great job helping Daddy. I’m going to be okay.

As the sirens got closer, he realized he was still thirsty.