109 In The Sky

Chapter 1

They told him there would be no side effects. So how had the world changed in the seventeen hours that Frank had been sleeping? That sleep was, of course, another "side effect" of the drug. Now, Frank would never have done this if he wasn't running out of money. If you got $750 for taking a pill, wouldn't you throw it down your throat too?

Frank remembered walking into the facility and getting a speech about how him and the group of people were changing the future. How this pill really did no damage and had no side effects. Frank was curious to what it did do, and so were other people. Finally, the group behind this "two centimeter miracle" informed the little test group that this pill merely gave you happiness.

He inwardly cursed himself for signing papers before knowing what it did. What a rookie mistake, he thought. But that's what he was, a rookie.

Instead of his own apartment, which he was sure of where he crashed, he was in an all white room. It had the same exact furniture and all of the things that he had. Except everything was white. Frank was unsure of what was going on, hoping this was some disturbing dream. But as he tried to open a window, a steel barrier, which was painted white, quickly fell down blocking everything outside. Panicked, he ran to his door, and flew down the stairs. He was careful to avoid the stairs that creaked not knowing if or who might be waiting.

Frank saw the world outside, and sure enough it was all white. People with glossed over eyes milled around with no purpose. They were all just shuffling around in a zombie like manner. John, a little kid who happily skipped up and down the street, was walking with an even pace.

It took a while for Frank to realize that he too, was wearing white clothing like everyone else. A world without any color except for the sky was freaking him out. He wanted something, anything, to make him stand out. He saw it then. There was an ink well for a pen in the lobby.

He splattered himself in the blue ink. Specks flew and hit the walls, floors, and ceiling around him. He looked down and admired his art, because that's what it was, art. Being unique, being someone, that was true art. Frank felt like a walking Picasso original.

As he went to go outside he saw smoke rising out of a building across the street. Not taking any chances of doing something stupid he went to the roof of his apartment complex to make sure there was something to be concerned about.

There wasn't. Some guy was grilling something near his window. But as Frank looked across town, he saw a car racing through the desert. He thought it was an hallucination from the new world. An old car, from what he could see looked like a Trans-Am. But it was covered in patterns and pictures.

There wasn't anyone in the building for now, but Frank didn't want trouble. His message machine started to play but Frank only half listened. He grabbed his guitar on the way out, it was comforting. He set out, trying to match pace with the person beside him so he didn't look out of place. He saw people with masks on holding, wait, holding guns? He didn't want to bump into them. He turned down alleys and sprinted to a place where he could hope he could intercept the mystery car.