The Impossible

  Roa woke up disoriented, his head spinning, when he felt a drop fall on his face. His head was pounding, as if about to explode. When he tried to rise, his body felt as though it was weighed down by a truck, a suffocating heaviness pinning him to the ground. Then, at once, it lightened, only to grow unbearably heavy once more—so heavy that he couldn’t even lift his cheek an inch off the ground. To his horror, his eyes focused onto the chaos unfolding before him, a sight that filled him with dread—reality was tearing itself apart.

  The ground was made of millions of fragments, floating in every direction. Some wobbled aimlessly, others spun at dizzying speeds, fading in and out of Existence, as if unsure whether they wanted to be there, or not. The sky warped into different, nauseating, neon hues, synced to the crack of thunder. He vomited unto the floor, his mind and body rejecting the dizzying, and unstable natural ws of that nightmarish pce. The stuffy air was thick with the pungent smell of burning metal and pstic, as an incessant humming kept scratching at his ears.

  He felt something small hit his arm once he was able to stand. A bizarre bug caught his attention as it flickered and warped, trickling off his arm as it disintegrated. The dust transformed into a flower, growing tall and strong on the ground before rapidly decaying again. This time, a swarm of butterflies buzzed away, as the sand transformed one st time. In the distance, strange creatures flew, their noises unlike anything he had ever heard on Earth, resembling something electronic, more than anything organic.

  "I'm dreaming," he repeated, attempting to reassure himself, his breath speeding up, as he was about to hyperventite.

  He looked around for Eray, his head turning in every direction, his heart sinking deeper each time he saw nothing but the impossible vastness of that pce. A rush of feelings overwhelmed him, like a kettle overflowing with scolding hot water. He screamed her name at the top of his lungs, but only an echo answered, repeating it over and over back to him, distorting it more each time. Her name warped in the skies above, somehow slowly transforming into a noise that resembled his weekday morning arm. His mind escaped that living nightmare for a moment, eager to recall the mundane normality of his now previous life.

  That hated sound went off each morning without fail, forcing an angry groan out of him. Eray would turn over in bed, half asleep.

  "Be grateful, my Sunflower. At least we are together," she would say in a gentle tone.

  He would put off starting his day for as long as possible, clinging to the peaceful quiet before the dreaded arm inevitably broke the silence again. With cold persistence, it would bre its infuriating tune again, dragging him back into the reality he was trying so hard to avoid. The daily torture routine ceased only when the boy complied with its demands for blind obedience.

  Eray's hugs felt warm and comforting under those sheets, his st few moments of peace before getting up. Within that warmth was the safest pce in the world, the only pce where he felt alright. The gray, cold outside world stood in stark contrast to her embrace. Stress seemed to be the only thing abundantly avaible and free, in that pce he called home. Most mornings, after enough snoozes had finally driven her insane, Eray would leap out of bed, feigning excitement. With her fist raised in the air, she’d race toward the kitchen, shouting, “never give up!” her silliness enough to make the boy get up out of bed.

  Roa hated his boss with a burning passion. He wanted to strangle him, hit him over his bald head, and punch his 'professional' attitude right out of that stupid face of his. His accounting job paid the bills, but at the cost of his mental and physical health, chipping away each day. He had few real friends, little time and even less energy to be happy. They couldn't afford a home, and even with several university degrees, incessant attempts, and endless patience, society's message was clear.

  "You are never enough."

  Not rich enough, smart enough, strong enough, cool enough, good-looking enough, and so on. This cruel message was implied over and over, in many creative and subtle ways, until a part deep inside of Roa began to believe it too. The young couple reluctantly accepted the nature of their lives, as everyone else did; an uncomfortable compliance with an unjust system nobody liked. What else could they do?

  The young man dreamed of escaping the suffocating, unrelenting, and exhausting loop he called his life. He dreamed of what so many others secretly longed for—change. He wasn’t content with a bit of it, either. No, he wanted a revolution. One that would start in the mind, and spill over onto the halls of power, like a furious tsunami, washing away some of that wretched wrong that filled so much of the world. A revolution where people would finally wake up and be honest with themselves—admitting that they didn’t want to spend their one life this way—and, more importantly, realize they didn’t have to.

  However, to Roa's daily dismay, everyone just seemed—too busy, too selfish, or filled with oceans of apathy, deciding instead to remain fast asleep, continuing with their well-practiced, uncomfortable compliance. A perfectly nauseating, daily choreography of firm handshakes, small talk, and gring screens, as the suffering of millions, and the galloping destruction of Nature went blissfully ignored.

  “Business as usual.”

  “It is what it is.”

  “Who cares.”

  Roa remembered the bnk stares of the people in the subway, wobbling back and forth like bowling pins as the train moved on his commute home. No one spoke, and not a single smile was in sight. He felt just as resigned as the other passengers must have, as the train's brakes screeched, piercing their ears with a most unpleasant of sounds.

  A simir screech jolted him back to the unstable reality he had been thrust into, all thanks to Nirvana's actions. This time, the noise didn't come from the red line train—but from a swarm of monsters emerging from behind. They were strange, colorful creatures resembling flying stingrays, their many eyes blinking erratically, as long, whip-like tails spiraled with elegance in the air. The wings made a deafening noise as the flock passed over his head, terrifying the boy as he ducked in fear.

  He was standing on a floating rock the size of a house; a single light post flickered incessantly, casting erratic shapes across the ground. The creatures, now distant specks in the strangely colored sky, continued their ascent into the unknown. He gnced around, his eyes nding on a melted clock ticking backwards with great speed. Even in this warped nd, he found himself tortured by ticking hands and gring arms.

  He then remembered the Jumper's instructions, his fingers shaking as he opened the piece of paper in his pouch.

  “JUMP 1: PRISON WORLD’S EDGE NEAR FIELD OF PANSIES AT SUNSET”

  Roa looked at it confused.

  “No, wait, I already did that one,” he studdered.

  "JUMP 2: IN THE OUTERWORKS FACE AWAY FROM THE SUN AND WALK 5 KM TO EXIT 999."

  The floating ptform tilted as he was reading, a wave of horror warping Roa’s face as he felt himself lose his bance. He scrambled for something to hold on to, but the smooth surface provided no grip. As gravity shifted and lightened, he took a desperate leap toward a much rger chunk of floating debris. Mid-jump, gravity suddenly intensified again, smming him down onto the surface. He crashed into a rock, his knee striking it with the momentum. His body felt as if it weighed a ton, pinned under a mountain. The sharp pain shot through his leg, radiating up to his thigh, making each breath more difficult.

  "I am never going to get out of here," he said with a tone of resignation.

  Careful not to fall into the infinite void below, he crawled, climbed, and leaped from one floating rock to another, waiting for the right moments to make his move, away from the dark blue sun in the colorfully nauseating sky. Instead of falling to the ground, the rain in that pce rose, vanishing into the sky above, a light drizzle turning into a full-fledged hurricane without warning. The young man clung to a rock, screaming, as violent winds battered him, shifting direction with each gust.

  "I want to live!" he shrieked into the storm, as he cursed Nirvana for having sent him there.

  Back in his old life, he had battled severe depression for years. It had driven him to the edge many times, as the thought of giving up often whispered to him the darkest of thoughts. However, in that strange and hostile pce, surrounded by constant danger, that desire to die was suddenly repced with a very vivid and determined hope to live.