When I woke up, the ceiling was high. The ceiling was dark. Then dawn crept up. The ceiling became a sheer white. It was tinted with colors of light.
It was bright. I sensed heat. Heat enveloped my body, invigorating it. My heart was cold as ice, stuck making small, creaky progress, like a freezing machine struggling to operate again. I gulped in air gratuitously. It was not enough to warm up my heart. I inhaled with greed. I could not hear anything. I could not get a grasp of time. I raised my chest when I could, and laid back down. I sat up when I was able to. The need to breath was overpowering.
It was fine if I produced something closer to stone. I had held back my hand for as many chances as I got, to correct myself. It was a common occurrence in starting out. I stood looking. “What are you looking at?” asked someone. I identified the source. It was a young woman, with a happy face, all inquisitive.
I surveyed the room – the hall – finding people rising about us. “I wonder about that myself. I was thinking.” I brushed my left eyebrow. “Incidentally, I’m Aidan Alastair. And you are?” I said, extending a hand.
“I’m Sherry Thoreau.” We shook hands. “I work for a company offering crypto-based courses,” she let go of my hand. “We do things like providing an introduction to the crypto economy, explaining what proof of work and what proof of stake mean, why cryptocurrency is secure, and types of cryptocurrencies, including more private ones. I occasionally appear in presentation videos. That aside, making people laugh is my hobby.”
“I see. That sounds cool. I am a normal employee. It is nice to get to know someone as impressive as you. Well then, I’ll explore around for a bit.”
“Before you go, how do you figure we got into this situation?” Sherry asked, curious to hear an opinion.
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“That’s what I would intend you to find out for me, if you will, Sherry. I’ll inspect around.”
“I would rather not, Dan” Sherry said, yawning. “I had the weirdest dream that I died. We should compare this with what we each remember when we got here. I’ll cheer you on. You think you can manage that for me?”
“You just landed yourself an excellent job, Sherry. I’ll make my rounds before considering joining you in talking to the people,” I said. Sherry agreed. The room was filled with at least a platoon of people. A platoon was just about thirty-five people, in the older sense of the meaning. In the corner of my eyes, I identified another whimsical woman, like Sherry.
“What kind of situation is this? Have we been kidnapped?” pondered a woman with a black sweatshirt, wearing a purple skirt and black slacks. There was a young adult close to her who started sobbing. The woman went up to her and said, ‘hey, hey. You are not alone.”
I could hear some hungover voices. “Why man, you could have arranged for a more practical joke than this. Totally ruined the good feels I got from last night’s movie.”
“Where are you from?” asked the man beside him, looking around, his eyes darting from profile to profile.
A woman formed a kind of semi-hold with her hand before dipping it into her pant’s pocket. She was disappointed that it came up empty. I looked at her pixie-like face, and shyness. Was she looking for a gun? It was probably fine to take my impressions of people like her at face value. That was just me, though.
It got noisy. “Has anyone got a phone on him?” said a person, stressing the last syllable. I could see someone scanning the walls, for telltale signs of cameras. A woman looked ready to sue the person who had brought her here.
There was a throne on higher ground at the front. I was a few meters away from joining the group investigating the foremost part of the hall. Something sprung into shine at the raised platform.
What materialized there was the same woman who had visited me in my dreams. Her hair was white. Her eyes were an apparent auburn. “Jesus, did Lacan ever dream of such a woman?” said a man in the group in front of me. That was weird.
“Dear heroes, I thank you for responding to my call” she intoned. Her voice resounded throughout the hall.