Leaving Ground

They never told me what it was. 

The foreman, who never was much of a talkative man, was even more 'hush-hush' about our new project. The first day at our new site started off like any other: I woke up, drank my coffee, and kissed my wife. I watched about ten minutes of the news while I threw on my overalls and looked for my hat- it always took me about five minutes to find it. For the first time today, I thought perhaps the dog was conspiring against me. It wasn't like me to question. I didn't need to know why the airplanes that flew over town sometimes looked a little strange. 'It's the glare of the sun!' I'd tell myself. To me, the sun was the sun and the moon was the moon. My reality was what what presented to me, and like any other busy worker bee, I thrived on routine. We lived in a small town, and never a day did I feel like I wished for more. I was happy in my little house, with my cute wife, and my dog. My Sunday paper and my after-work baths were like comforting hugs- and I took joy in all of life's little pleasures. That's how I thought one should live their life.

And so I went to work that morning, suited up and ready to work on the, 'new big project.' Sure, we had asked the foreman what it was, but we didn't really care all that much. We'd follow the schematics and listen to his instructions, and bring home the bacon to our women and children. Field, after field, after field we passed. It was unusually far out into the plains- further than normal, anyways. Soon, after seeing naught but grass and the occasional animal, we began to see some signs of human life. Large, covered trucks lined a dirt road like a welcoming committee, and we rode right through them. Was it the military? We whispered among each other, unable to resist feeling the least bit curious. But once they brought us into the dome, our minds were focused on the task we were sent to do.

The circular building beckoned us in and opened itself to us, raising its metal gates. There was little to look at, on the inside. There was a large area of floor covered by metal plating, likely a hole of some sort. An incinerator, maybe. At least, at the time, that's what I thought. It wasn't long before we got right to work. Platforms, metal grating, solid structures- we welded walkways and created a central framing around the covered floor. It was all so basic, so normal. Morning turned into day, and day into night. We were there late, that day. One by one, the men left to go home to their families. There'd be more work tomorrow, that was sure. I was last to leave. I was focused on my tasks, I had to finish the section I was working on. I should have just gone home. Oh, how I wish I would have just gone home.

When I was finished, I packed up my tools, and began the long walk against the section of steel catwalks we had completed. I had almost made it to the end, staring at the ladder leading back down to the floor, when I heard a noise. An electric sizzle, and then- a crackle. Although the sensation started at my ears, it soon spread; the hairs on my arms began to stand on end, as if static was floating through the air. The breeze felt stiff, heavy. I looked back over my shoulder and at the control panel, and for a moment, I considered my options. I could indulge my curiosity and open the floor-panels, surely just to make sure there wasn't anything malfunctioning...- or I could keep on going, go home, take my bath, and eat supper. Questions began to flood my mind. What if there is a malfunction, and something catches fire? What if doing nothing somehow ruins all the work that we've completed? Should I call for the foreman? I made a choice. A choice to push the button. What else could I have done? If you were me, wouldn't you have done the same?

I moved from the control panel and stared over at the railing, watching the two large panels retract slowly in synchronicity. It was as if I were in a dark room, slowly raising a curtain which covered a grand window. But it was not daylight, that awaited my eyes. It was blinding at first, staring into the basin. The air felt thicker, and thicker, and I felt as if I had just put on a static-y sweater that had just been pulled out of a dryer. At first, it looked like white light. But soon, a brilliant blue filled my strained orbs. As the doors opened, I stared in awe of what had been presented before me.

What the hell is that? My lips mouthed those words as I stared, marveled. It was unlike anything I had ever seen! My mind had a hard time even describing it to myself. Liquid electricity, raw energy..., a reactor? It was blue, pulsating, and very alive. I could see currents dancing, as if intertwining rivers were out to play. But just as any kind of energy released from containment, it began to grow wild. It whipped, and surged. Time seemed to slow down, and then speed up- I remember my heart racing, pounding like a man banging relentlessly upon a door. I remember the smell of my sweat, my breath catching in my throat.

Close the floor-plates. My mind started to fall back into reality. Then it started to get more demanding. Close the floor-plates! I was yelling at myself over, and over, and over- like a mother yelling at a disobedient child. My inner-voice echoed through my skull, but my body would not move. The part after that is almost all but a blur, now. I remember the shaking, and a thundering sound. I remember a flash, like lightening. And then, I fell.

If I could go back, I would have made myself run. I would give anything to make sure I hadn't have even gone to work that day. I don't know how long I was in there. I only remember waking up. I felt like I was swimming and, for a moment, I wondered whether I was alive or dead. But soon, my senses came to me. I felt alive, and I also felt..., strange. I rubbed at my eyes, and looked down to what would quickly turn into a distressing sight. I was laying three or so feet above ground, and there was nothing holding me up. I flailed, then. Like a man who had just been tossed into the deep end of the pool. I tried to shift upright, to stand- but even when vertical, my feet would not touch the ground. It was as if there was a platform below me I could not see. I was no longer near the basin, but near the gates of the dome. Had I drifted all the way here? Did someone move me? More questions. For a man who hardly asked any, I was suddenly filled with dozens.

My imagination began to fill in some of the gaps and, for a moment, I was intrigued. For God's sake, I was floating! Floating, like a bubble. I glanced upwards, trying to see if I could float higher; and I did. As if gravity was bending to my will, I went higher, and higher.

I can fly! Oh, Betsy, I can fly! I was excited, in that moment. My body looked normal, unchanged. It was bazaar, like something straight of a comic book. I wasn't sure whether I should go home and tell my wife or if I should go save an orphan trapped in a burning tree. However, as my mild fear of heights began to kick in, I lowered myself, frustrated with the realization that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much Ipushed,  my feet would not touch ground. I wasn't sure how late it was, or how long I had been at the site. When I looked over, I realized that the floor-plating covering the basin, and whatever was below, had hit some sort of automatic timer and had already closed. And so, realizing there was no point in sticking around, I decided to float to one of the trucks and drive myself home. That is, I wanted to drive myself home, realized that, in my current state, it was too difficult, and opted to instead fly home. All the while taking in some sights on the way.

It was so effortless. When I finally reached my house, I felt as if I hadn't used any energy whatsoever. I reached into my pocket, retrieved my key, pushed in the hole, and turned it. The door opened with a click; it was dark inside.

Betsy? I called out to her. She must have been asleep. It was late, after all. I walked down the hall, dragging my fingers along the wall to try and find a light switch. I did, but only after hitting my head on one of the above light fixtures. As I rubbed my head, the lights flickered on- and what I saw horrified me. There, in the living room, was my Betsy. The sweet baker's daughter that I took as my wife. She was not asleep in her bed, dreaming of gentle flower beds and being nestled in my arms. She was tied to a chair with a rag in her mouth, silently sobbing and wrestling against her strong, deliberate confines. I rushed to her through the air, trying to slice right through it- ducking and weaving to get around the furniture. And then the men made themselves known to me.The sunglass men. Tall men, dressed in their black suits, with their black earpieces. We knew who they were. We had heard the stories. Back then, in that moment, I should have known what was coming. But I couldn't have imagined the turmoil that would soon consume my life.

It all happened so fast. My quiet house, my wife, my dog- they were gone. They took me away, and I couldn't fight them. There weren't going to be any more pleasant Sunday mornings, and after-work baths. I wasn't able to feel Betsy's soft lips against mine as the sun rose with a smile. Everything was dark, then. Wet. Cold. A man who could probably touch the heavens- and I was put in a cage. A chamber of solitude. Days started to blend together. Weeks turned into months, months turned into a year. They fed me, and bathed me off with a hose. I was naked, most of the time. It was cold, sometimes. Other times, it was almost unbearably hot. When I wasn't in my room, I was in the lab. I never knew what really went on in there, they always put me out. One night, my body began to resist the drugs. And I saw it.

I was floating above a table. Oh, how I just wanted to feel the comfort of a solid surface. I missed it. I missed feeling the pressure against my skin, the cold of smooth stone, or the warmth of a rug. I was chained, unable to move. My senses would surely shut down soon, I thought. It's the same every time, when they give me the drugs. But my body was fighting it, and through half-lidded eyes, I saw what they brought in. It was a person- no. It wasn't a person. And it wasn't an animal. It was alien: blue-grey skin, long, slender arms. It made strange, foreign sounds. My hearing had already began to fade, but it sounded like the deep bellowing cry of a whale. Then it, too, was chained to a table. My blurry eyes stared at it, and it stared back at me. Narrow, deep-green eyes. But for a creature to unknown to me, somehow, I could still read the emotion on its face. It was looking at me with pity.

I have to get out of here. That was the thought that screamed at my brain day, after day, after day. I thought of my wife, and sobbed. I missed our house, and our dog, and our bed. I missed going to work and coming home to one of her wonderful meals- always cooked with care. I wondered if she was safe, and healthy. I knew that they were coming to take me to the lab again today, but what they didn't know, was that my body continued to fight off their drugs. Where the walk to the white room used to be a drowsy one, I was now able to walk the halls alertly, with clearer thought. And so, after they jabbed the needle into my vein and we began the walk, I mustered up all of my strength and punched the escort on my left. He stumbled to the floor, the escort on my right attempting to subdue me. My hands were chained; I pulled them up around the back of his throat and then gave him a swift knee to the groin. He toppled over, and I ran- no-flew through the air. All I could think about was home. I tried to find a way out, an opening. There had to be something, anything.

A window. The sight of the half-opened window flashed at me like a beacon. It was large, and I pushed the slide the rest of the way open, making my way right through and straight into the sky. There was no fear, no. Only drive. I had to get home. I had to see my Betsy. I could forget everything if were in her embrace.

Bang. 

I'll never forget that sound. I'll never forget the pain that I felt- the excruciating, mind-melting pain. It wasn't the physical pain of the bullet that lodged itself into my back. No; it was the overwhelming hopelessness I felt when I came to a realization.

I'm never coming home. 

I remember falling. Falling and loathing. Loathing everything. Loathing the people who did this to me. Loathing the foreman who brought me on that job. Loathing the air; loathing flying. I hate flying, I hate flying! I just want to feel the ground! I screamed. Screamed into the night sky. I don't even remember everything growing black. I only remember waking up.Waking up in the room, naked and drowsy. All I wanted was to feel the cold of the floor against my body. But I would never have that solace.

There was only air. I was floating in the air. Like a ghost.

Betsy.