Other Worlds Than These

Telling Yourself That You're Not Small

Bob's vision was completely white. The swirling colors of the world inside the portal were no longer visible, and instead he could register his body moving extremely fast. He could feel his arms getting very hot, his goggles somehow disappearing from his face, and he couldn't hear anything. Was this death, he thought, was this Hell? Had he been killed and just didn't know it, or was this a hallucination and he was actually bleeding out on the lab floor?

Then, he felt himself falling. His vision came back, and he saw another portal open. It opened into an alley. With a flash of bright purple light, he found himself in the alley. His clothes were on fire, and he instantly dropped to the ground. Everything was unbearably hot, and he tried to put himself out. He screamed, hoping someone was there to hear him, to help him.

There was so much going on, where was he, this wasn't SFIT, why was he on fire, why is it daytime, but the fact the fire wasn't any closer to being out was the thing worrying himself the most at the moment. He continued to try and do that stop, drop, and roll technique everyone had been taught in school at some point or other, but it was like his clothes had been soaked in hexane. He was about ready to give up and just burn when a door opened and he was immediately hit with the spray from a fire extinguisher.

He coughed, unable to breathe for a moment, but the fire was out. Quickly, he took stock of his situation. His clothes were burned almost black, especially his scarf- he'd have to get rid of that, which saddened him to no end. But, his legs were fine, so was his face and torso. But his arms were burned, they felt like they were still on fire- even though they weren't. They were bright red. Even his hands had gotten hit too, but they were less severe. Judging by the intense pain, they were second degree. He was by no means a doctor, but he remembered reading somewhere that third degree burns didn't hurt because the nerve endings were destroyed. His nerve endings were perfectly fine and they were telling him all about it.

Something strange had happened, and that was clear. A rainy night had become a clear day in an instant, his SFIT lab had become a small alleyway. His mind ran through all the possibilities and came up with nothing. He had not a clue about what had happened. He knew the amplifier was dangerous and could have unknown properties, but he certainly didn't expect anything like this.

He got a good look at his savior. A short boy, he couldn't be older than 14. Dark hair, not as pale as himself, and with innocent-looking dark brown eyes. He had on a red shirt with what looked like a long-sleeved white undershirt, and brown pants. And he looked rather shocked at his sudden appearance at his doorstep. But, to be fair, Bob was shocked about that too.

How was he going to explain this? He didn't even know what happened, how would he tell someone about it? They would think he was crazy. They would think he was lying, for sure. There was no way out of this unless Bob lied about what really happened. He was fine with that. He knew how to lie. He could create a whole new identity. And that's what he would do, he decided. Not for anything bad, he reasoned, it'd just be to keep things going smoothly until he could find a way back to SFIT. He saw the boy move like he was going to go inside, and spoke.

"Don't.. don't call anyone."

The boy seemed taken aback by that. Beck had to think of an explanation, and fast. What could he say to stop a concerned bystander from calling 911? Doctors would ask questions he couldn't answer, and he didn't feel like being sent to a mental hospital today.

An idea hit him, even though it would be all-too painful for him. He could re-open the mental scars inflicted onto him by his mother and father, and pretend like they were fresh wounds. He could pretend to be a runaway. He could draw on what he had already experienced in reality, the constant put-downs, threats of violence, the constant fighting, the actual violence. He didn't have to act like he had been abused. Maybe it was okay to do this, he thought. It wasn't like he was completely faking it. He was just lying about the whole running away thing. What had been done to him was real. It had been a few months for him to heal since he was last at their mercy, though. SFIT had saved him. Getting back there was paramount, even if he had to tell a few lies to get there.