The End is Just the Beginning
I was driving to my little apartment in my red Fiero GT, the transplanted, turbocharged Corvette V8 making its sweet music as it spun the short driveshaft leading to the wide Pirellis at the tail of the vehicle, the bright Texas sun shining down on the plastic panels. The old '86 Pontiac had seen a lot of years--30, to be exact--and with a little TLC, it still ran like a charm...Good classic bit of engineering. Obviously, the turbos mounted on the non-native small-block Chevy, a fair bit of the suspension, and the chunky tires were all new, but the previously mentioned Corvette motor was old engineering... Hey, what could you expect on a mid-engined 2 seater for the masses? Perfection? Nah, gotta pay about four-hundred grand for that.
The last day of university for the academic year was up, and that was a cause for celebration. Luckily, my tight circle of friends and I managed to all get into the same school, and find an apartment complex with vacancies close enough, and with enough vacancies, to accomodate all four of us. All of our respective schedules managed to have us finish our year of courses at the same time, too; there were a lot of happy coincidences that all led to us spending a fair amount of time together. I looked to my distinctly 80's dashboard clock to see that the time read 7:45. I seemed to have a weird knack to glance at the clock at round numbers.
Pulling into the small complex with a speed that was definitely not mistakable for the one your grandmother might have used, I parked my little track machine in its respective spot-- right next to the massive, unstoppable pickup truck that was my decidedly more redneck cousin John's. I chuckled to myself a little as I climbed out of my asphalt eater; despite our giant list of similarities, we had our differences. Also in the lot were the grey Volkswagen Golf belonging to my practical friend Kyle, and the tiny green diesel Civic that was Catherine's. She was all for eco-friendly vehicles; the thing was a bit pricey considering it was the diesel model, and, therefore, an import, but she easily recouped the money in the ridiculous mileage it made.
I was last to arrive; I'd had my part-time job of fixing the automotive-challenged masses' vehicles today. A lot of it was just oil changes, tire realignment, and other trifles such as these. It was rare that you actually had someone bring something in that was a technical challenge. I glanced at my own vehicle briefly, and saw the discreet cloud and tricolored lightning bolt on the gas cap.
Ah, yes. My Little Pony. I was the original brony in my small group of friends, and never let anyone know of my societal heresy until I'd managed to sway the guys into the herd, using covert, and, if I do say so myself, well-planned tactics. I felt kind of bad for being so manipulative, but it paid off and I laid bare everything I'd done to them afterwards; no harm, no foul.
Now, Catherine was a different matter. I'd just talked to her about it, and she was pretty open to watching it. She'd come into the picture after all the guys, though, but that's a long story for another time.
I'd made my way up to my room, dropping off my keys, laptop, and general school supplies. I thought of taking a quick shower, but I decided against it. Tonight, Kyle was hosting our small gathering at his place, with a some drink supplied by John and some snacks by Catherine. I felt like a bit of an ass for not bringing anything, but, then again, no one asked. Traversing the short stretch of hallway to Kyle's door, I rapped on the door, leading to its prompt opening by the tenant within.
"Hey Dave, how're you??" he greeted, brightly, using the form of my name reserved for friends. Kyle's proportions were pretty minimal; his head, atop which sat his unremarkable black hair, was the only thing that wasn't stick-thin. A recreational swimmer, what he lacked in height and mass he made up for in wiry muscle. He planned on software engineering, which we all expected him to succeed at, as he was a real smart guy; however, without exception, all of us were bright young people.
"Aww, not much," I answered, the two of us walking into his small living room, where John was lounging on the couch.
"What's up, cuz?" he asked, lifting himself off the couch and shaking my hand. He was the tallest out of us; lean, tall, and strong. The only thing remarkable about his hair was probably the fact that it was blonde. He was a pretty traditional guy, so as you would expect, there wasn't anything real different about his manner of dress. As cousins, the two of us were about as close as we could be. His was a slightly rhetorical question, given it was already asked, but the awkward air of only having two people in discussion was broken, so I expounded slightly.
"Just got back from fixing some guy's Nissan Cube. Guy should'a just bought a new car if you ask me."
Of course, John, being a fellow gearhead, cracked up at "Nissan Cube". "Why would anyone ever buy one of those?"
I shrugged. "You tell me."
About this time, I noticed Catherine's absence. The quiet, shy girl was nowhere to be seen.
"Where's Catherine at?" I asked, not truly expecting an answer, but hoping for one anyway.
"Dunno," said Kyle. About this time, fate decided to bring a quiet, tentative knock to the door, which was unmistakably her.
"Speak of the devil," I said, with all negative connotations out the window as I took the short walk to the door. Opening it revealed the small, long-haired, somewhat formally-dressed (as was her style) girl carrying a large serving tray full of delicious-looking bits of food; little slider hamburgers, wings, and, of course, some salad with various dressings. What? She had to get some greens into us somehow.
"Oh, hello David," she said brightly, but in her general quiet manner.
It was obvious she'd spent a lot of time and effort on this, and it had the effect of making me feel like an absolute, irrevocable ass.
"Aww, Catherine, did you make all this yourself?" I asked, for the sake of confirmation.
"Mhm," she said, nodding, as I carefully took it off her hands.
"You didn't have to spend all that time making this," I said fretfully.
"Sure she did," called John, "we couldn't function without the magical snack foods of the great and powerful Catherine." This had a bit of a double-edge to it; sort of sarcastic, but still honest and praising. I sent him a weak glare, to which he shrugged, and then totally dissipated as Catherine giggled good-naturedly.
"So, how are you guys?" she inquired as we entered the living room, I laying the tray down, which led to the Great Siege of the Snacks by us males, and then proceeded to sit down. As we expected of each other, our answers were all monosyllabic.
"Well," Kyle responded.
"Good," said John.
"Fine," I replied in a positive manner.
Somewhat ironically, the most shy person was the one able to stimulate conversation. Catherine was extremely quiet in public situations, and was always pretty sensitive and meek; but she really was a fun person to be and have around, after she knew you well enough. All of us guys would probably rather be beat down than let someone mess with her; she had worked her way into our hearts pretty easily.
Our small gathering proceeded for a good while an hour or so maybe, judging from the fading sunlight filtering through the window, and the talk kickstarted by Catherine caused it to pass fast. The subject matter shifted a series of times until it fell upon what it was destined to.
"Hey, did anyone else get an experimental drug in Biology today? I was the only one in my class."
Much to my surprise, everyone affirmed this. Odd. I proceeded again, my nature becoming gradually more vocal as I warmed in the friendly air that had been generated.
"A little weird, but, I mean, it came with official documents and everything needed to verify it. Besides, Miss Jones is someone to trust."
More agreements. Ms. Jones was the Biology professor, and she was pretty great. She was actually a young teacher, not evem out of her twenties yet. She'd gained my respect pretty easily, as she was smart and pretty easygoing. As for the drug itself, whilst I didn't like the word "experimental" being applied as an adjective to the word "drug" if I was to use it, my statement stood. Besides, it was supposed to be a dietary supplement, which probably meant it was a bunch of hoo-hah anyway. The weird thing was...
It was just one little vial of a clear, viscous liquid. I took the one belonging to me out of my pocket, where it had migrated to after its removal from the packaging, to inspect it. Turns out, everyone except Kyle, who stepped aside to grab his out of his backpack, kept it on them, as they felt inclined to examine the mysterious fluid as well.
"Did anyone other than y'all get one?" I inquired. This led to shakes of the head from everyone. Even more odd. Meh, maybe Miss Jones felt we were reliable and to be trusted to record results.
I shifted the topic again. "Catherine, aren't you going to eat? I haven't seen you have a bite this whole time." This probably would have weirded out people who didn't know me, but that was not a circumstance in question as of now.
"No, I'm not really hungry," she said in a way that I was inclined to disbelieve her.
"C'mon, you made the stuff, you have total dominion over it. It's not good to take medicine on an empty stomach, you know," I said, the latter bit with a bit of a sarcasm and a condescending look on my face.
Catherine angled her head in a sidelong glance, amusedly quipping, "It's also not good to take medicine with alcohol," whilst motioning to the solitary beer bottle sitting two thirds drained on the end table next to me. Frankly, I wasn't keen on drinking more than that, as I detested dulling my senses or mind to any degree, and didn't particularly care for the taste of drink anyway. Catherine's earlier remark, however, led to roaring laughter from all of us.
Eyeing the vial again, I decided now was probably as good a time as any to down the liquid, and so asked, "So, are we gonna take this stuff?"
"Why not?" John said, the manner of the other two and the unstopping of the tubes indicating their agreement to his statement.
Motioning in a manner that suggested a toast, being theatrical and for no apparent reason, I stood up and extended my arm out and said, "To us," flooding the air with sarcastic drama, but the words true. Again, the group nodded, and with a pathetic clink, the small glass tubes drew away from each other, and we drank the contents.
The consistency was strange; somewhat filmy, a bit thicker than water, sorta slick, and also--get this--it tasted like the air smelled on a rainy summer day. I don't know why, but that's what it tasted like. Sitting back down, I commented, "That was probably the strangest flavoring I've ever tasted."
"Yeah," Kyle agreed.
"Whaddya mean? It just tasted like a green apple," interjected John. I didn't have a chance to respond, though; an absolutely crushing headache ripped through my mind, making all systematic thought impossible. I had no idea of how long this lasted, but it was like my entire brain was numb; couldn't think, couldn't feel. There was no sense of time or of space. I'd totally blanked.
Abruptly, it stopped. My head was in my hands, and the strange thing was, my arms were asleep. Letting them down to the arms of the chair to allow the blood to circulate again, I looked to my left wrist, upon which my watch was sitting. It was about 9:47 before, and now it's... 10:03? I was apparently sitting there for 16 whole minutes.
I looked up to everyone else. "What just happened?"
Turns out, all of them were just recovering from a similar experience. Side effect? If it is, that's a hell of one.
"I... I have no idea," answered the obviously bewildered Catherine.
"Well, whatever it was, we just lost sixteen minutes of our lives."
A unanimous "What?" arose from the group. I nodded.
"Yep. It was about 9:47 when that started, and 10:03, just now, when it ended."
"But how do you just blank out for sixteen minutes?" queried John, incredulously. I shrugged.
"Jesus, my sides are burning," complained Kyle. And now that he mentioned it... so were mine. Right on the hips. They felt as if someone had poked them with a branding iron. How did I not notice that before, but notice my arms had fallen asleep? I'll check that later...
I let out a spectacular yawn. I was all-around tired, dirty, and "I don't know about you guys, but I'm toast. Anyway, we have more time to hang now that school's out for the summer. See ya."
The gang all said their goodbyes, and I trudged over to my apartment. The little place didn't have much to see; I was a pragmatic person, most of the time, and the tiny place was virtually devoid of anything without function, nostalgia, or something aesthetically pleasing while having a low price. Then again, I'd spent most of my spare monies on my car and my laptop. I ducked into my bedroom, grabbing a loose-fitting, soft pair of shorts and a white T-shirt, leading to my subsequent entry of the bathroom, where I disrobed and let forth the wonderful steaming waters from the shower. My mind was always running at 100%, jumping from thing to thing on pretty abstract connections. But, as I stepped into the sensational warmth of the stream of water, it was easy to remember the burning feeling I had felt earlier. It was a lot like a sunburn, actually...
I looked down to my sides. What I saw was a bit bewildering at first.
A tricolored lightning bolt, stemming from one puffy cumulus cloud, all outlined in a light bluish cyan. An perfect replica of Rainbow Dash's cutie mark.
Nice one, guys. Putting a tattoo me while I was mentally out to lunch.
But... how were the lines so sharp? Tattoos didn't have such perfect lines, they were always blurry along the edges. The burning could have been explained by rubbing ice and salt or something of the like on it, but why would they do that? Speaking of motives, none of my friends would be keen to manuever my pants out of the way of the target areas for the tatt.
And why was it not running off with the water rolling down my side? I did the natural thing; I ran my hand across it. However, there was no weird texture of something put on the skin; I felt unmitigated sensation in both my hip and finger here as well.
Bizarre. But, not unexplainable. I went on with my cleaning as usual, reflecting on everything the day had brought. Soon enough, it was time to step out of the cascading water and shut the valve. I donned my loose-fitting vestments and left my bathroom, accompanied by a jet of steam. I decided to retrieve my laptop from its case in the living room. I did so, and returned to my bedroom, where I sat up against the headboard of my massive, deliciously soft and ever-cool bed. Flipping open the lid, I launched Google Chrome, navigated to Netflix, and started catching up on Doctor Who. I'd always loved the show; you had to use your head, think in advance, remember important details. It was great fun attempting to follow the absolute brilliance of the Doctor; I had to say, 9 was my favorite, however brief his stint. The theme song began to play...
As the ending credits scrolled past the wormhole-esque background, I didn't get how I was so drowsy. I wasn't like this an hour ago, when I started the episode, and exhaustion doesn't happen that quickly. At this point, however, the want for sleep had already shut my brain halfway down, and I was eager to get a good night's rest. Putting my potent laptop on the bedside table and connecting the charger, I laid my head against my pillow. The depths of sleep were quick to drag me under.
Author's Note
In case you haven't noticed, yes, I am a Fiero guy. And I like cars.
No, my name isn't David.
Don't be bashful with criticism! I love constructive criticism. Wow, there's a lot of "I"s in the ending...
Is anyone familiar with Meyers-Briggs and Jung typology? Love to hear your type. Proud INTJ, by the way.
Logic!
For those of you that didn't catch it, the year is 2016.
