Thermophile

PROLOGUE: Dreams Are Made Of These

Floating. Darkness.

Air. Breath.

Cold. Shock.

The room was white and bright that I could see almost every spec of dirt on the floor. Of how I came to this, I had no clue, it was like I was sucked and forced into this blinding area from nothingness. Void to existence-I wasn't and then I was.

The seemingly endless rows of metallic tables, tiled sinks, and glass cabinets were aligned and built precisely, that they looked like one of each when gazed from the right direction. The comfortable yet strong odor of antiseptic combined with the smell of drugs and other chemicals float in the air as the beeps and clicks of the apparatuses fill the silence.

I watched, as cerulean eyes studied the fall of golden drops released by the pipetol as it turned the colorless liquid in the Erlenmeyer flask, to green. The result must've been a good one because I heard his sigh of relief.

The blue-eyed man-William-carefully grasped the flask containing the green, swishing liquid, brought it to eye level, and poured something from the petri dish he uncovered.

Bacteria.

How do I know these?

A feeling of piled information that I couldn't understand swept over me, that later I understood as confusion.

Curiosity nudged me to get a glimpse of my appearance. The urge to know what existence had given me crawled under my skin.

What do I look like?

I went to one of the cabinet glasses to check my reflection, but I saw nothing of me. It was like I was there but was not-like an existence that myself only could acknowledge.

I could see when I had no eyes, I could feel when I had no skin, I could smell when I had no nose, I could hear when I had no ears, and I could taste the bitterness of my situation. I heard myself intake a sharp breath, exhaling fast, and then inhaling again. Panic.

What am I?

"This will finally be our long awaited success," William remarked as he walked to his colleague who was standing in front of a big cylindrical container in the far end of the room. Andrew.

I-walked? Floated?-towards them. At first, I couldn't see what they were looking and deeming as their success because their big frames were blocking it. And then I saw, a child, no more than a year old, floats in the center of the tank, a mask covering its little, pale face a tube attached to it, connecting it to the bottom of the container. The small creature was curled in a fetal position seeming to protect itself from scrutinizing eyes and the harshness of the world.

I went closer, almost pressing my nonexistent face to the glass. My gaze focused on her face-for unknown divine reason, I knew that she was a girl-mesmerized at how peaceful she seemed amidst the creepy, cynical place she was in.

The men continued to converse about chemicals, formulas, and processes. I paid them no heed, and unbrokenly stared, fascinated by this being.

What are you doing here, little one? Where are your parents? I tried to talk to her but it looked like I was the only one that could hear my imaginary voice.

My sight couldn't seem to look away from the child. I studied her long eyelashes that contrasted her pasty-white skin along with her longish, swaying hair due to the water in the tank. Her tiny thumbs on either side of the mask that I was slowly finding distressful.

Why was a baby taken to this place? Just seeing her from the other side of the tank, I could tell that she was in pain, and I long to ease that away even if it was the only thing I would be able to do-to lessen her suffering.