With eyes wide open, embracing every detail of the beauty that was before me. The light hit my eyes and seemed to melt into my soul giving me a sense of warm, acceptance, and tranquility that I had never felt before. I felt my bodily pains escaping me. Nay, I felt as if I had no body, an ephemeral wind past through what was now my essence leaving me breathless yet perfectly content. This was transcendence, and with that thought many more rushed into my mind. But these were not mine, however they seemed to be from a collective stream of minds sharing many forms of happiness and bliss, secrecy and ecstasy. Then voices, that of a young school choir sang in unison, and what a sound it was. It had touched me right in the depths of my heart, filling it with love and sincerity. Time seemed stuck upon this moment, unmoving, slowing down, and oddly enough frozen. I thought of the implications of being here forever to gaze upon this picture perfect scene but that did not sit well with me. Panic, claustrophobia, it sat on my chest like a 10 ton weight, I wanted to throw up. My skin prickling all over, ohhh the itches. The back of my throat was tightening, I wanted to scream...
And my eyes bust open. Sweat pouring from my forehead and down my face. I felt every bead of it pass through the pores of my skin and into the open chilled air. My heart rate fast and beating out of my chest.
"Sorry about that, Mr. Lewis. We haven't figured out why the procedural exit causes such a stress on the mind, but it's a work in progress." the women said. She was peering down at me from an odd angle, North East.
I looked about, trying to piece together the scene that was so different from where I just was. Was this early onset dementia, or schizophrenia, perhaps paranoia? Slowly, like a leaf floating down from a branch, the setting started to sink in. Endyne Labs. Dr. Willieum. Experimental trials. Consent to death. The wavier. Unstable. Cellular neuro-toxicity levels.
A faint hum and beeping sound occupied my mind for the next few minutes. Pieces of my memory slowly puzzling back together. Flashes of insight, flashes of terror. Flashes of flashes. Flashes from the 'lady rouge' I was with last week.
"May I go home now," I managed to squeak, "I am rather tired."
I was outside. My breath was visible, and the cobble stone slowly numbing the bares of my feet. Rubbing my hands together I hunched up trying to conserve the limited heat that I had left.
I was inside. On the telephone. The voice was telling me something but I forgot what it was. Medial temporal lobe. Amnesia.
I was cuddled up, in my bed. It was dark out. The faint sound of traffic in the distance from my window. I closed my eyes. And with that the blackness returned.