Denial's Not Just a Feeling

Into the Belly of the Beast

“Place me in your shoes.”

                The Professor looked at Amelia like she was insane. Maybe she was, but she needed something different. She folded her arms over her small chest and narrowed her eyes at the Professor while cocking out one of her hips. “No.”

                “Why?”

                “Amelia, there is no point and you have no idea what you’re getting into.”

                “So?”

                The Professor huffed out a frustrated breath and stared at her irritated. “Why me?” He leaned his weight on a hand that was holding onto the edge of his lab table.

                Amelia licked her top teeth then her dry lips. She took a look at the cylinder capsule to her right. It stood on a metal platform with three metal steps leading up to it. The capsule stood almost ceiling height with a revolving glass door going all around to one steel bar that kept the base and the ceiling of it connected.

                She looked back at the Professor and scowled. “Not you particularly, Professor.” He eyed her, trying to catch if she was lying. She groaned. “Do you actually think I want to take your place? Be serious, Professor.”

                “Well, excuse me for the assumption,” he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

                “Apparently.” She rolled her eyes, feeling like she was talking to a five year old. Everything just goes over the head with him.

                “Amelia!”

                “What?”

                “You-you—“ he pointed and stammered unsuccessfully. His face twisted and deepened in worry lines.

                “I-I what?” He opened and closed his mouth like a gasping whale stranded on a sand dune for longer than it could breathe, but has the audacity of keeping on living. She smiled, amused. “Lost for words, are we, Professor.”

                The Professor glared and blew out another frustrated breath. He took his weight off of his hand to stand to his full stature.

                They stayed in silence just staring at each other. She looked him over from the last time she saw him eight months ago.

                His stature didn’t change, even though she did grow, he still had half a foot at least on her. His usually messy, bush like dirty blonde curls were slicked back with some type of grease and reached to the back of his neck. His childlike, blue eyes were frustrated other than their usual brightness even when they fought. He wore the usual white lab coat that she seriously wanted to change to a darker color that resembled the research they did.

                The Professor ran his hand through his hair. “Have you any idea what has happened the past eight months you’ve been gone?”

                “No.” She shook her head confused. “People here don’t talk much about this kind of stuff on the outside.” The Professor gulped and cracked his fingers. “Professor?” She dropped her arms to her sides and walked to him until she was standing in front of him. His eyes bore into her chocolate, yellow specked ones. They were tired and defeated. What did happen?

                “You really have no idea?”

                “No.”

                “God damn,” he mumbled loud enough for her to hear.

                A loud blast went off behind the almost impenetrable double doors. Amelia squatted spider style and ducked her head with her arms and closed her eyes. The Professor covered her with his body and stared at the smoking penetrating through the doors. He swore under his breath and stood. He started typing frantically on his keyboard, awaiting to hear the capsule door open.

                Amelia uncovered her head, still in her spider squat, and looked over her shoulder at the double doors then up to the Professor. The cling-clang, cling-clang of the revolving door of the capsule finally opened to the Professor’s delight and to Amelia’s confusion.

                “Professor—“

                “That’s what has been happening.” The Professor continued to type away at the keyboard, not taking his eyes off of the levitating screen in front of him.

                Amelia rose cautiously, taking glances over her shoulder periodically at the smoking double doors. The white of them started changing to yellow as if someone had been smoking nonstop in the room and they were only then starting to react to it.

                She stared at the doors questionably. “You mean the explosions or the yellowing of the doors?”

                “Yellowing of what?” The Professor stopped typing to stare at the doors in shock. He shook his head not believing the sight.

                No. No.

                Everything was happening faster than planned. There was little hope that the capsule would work now with the poisonous smoke penetrating the doors, even though they weren’t opened. The capsule only worked in clean, uncontaminated air. And now that was just a long shot the Professor has to take quickly.

                “Amelia, you must go into the capsule at once!” The Professor sucked in a breath after speaking and gagged desperately. He regained himself between his fits of coughing enough to get everything ready for the capsule which would usually take fifteen minutes he did in one and a half.

                 Amelia watched the Professor until the levitating screen started blinking red and INCOMPLETE. What had she really missed in the last eight months?

                “Professor, what’s going on?”

                “Explosions like that have been happening quite frequently over the past eight months, but today is the first time that spoke has been able to penetrate the doors and—“

                “The walls too!” Amelia screamed in horror.

                “What?” The Professor whipped around and gasped in horror. He watched the spoke penetrate through the walls like ghosts walk through walls in videos. Except unlike ghosts, the smoke was turning the walls to yellow. The doors quickly crumbled to the white, tiled floor, vibrating the room, but once they hit the tiles they turned to yellow ash. “God.”

                He reached under his desk and took out a backpack. He held it and guided Amelia to the capsule. She looked up at him horrorstricken and shaking slightly. He pushed her gently to the middle of the capsule and shoved the backpack into her arms once she spun around.

                She stared down at the backpack being gripped by her trembling fingers and then at the Professor hastily hitting the levitating screen. “Professor?” She whimpered and bit the inside of her cheek.

                “I’m sending you now.” The Professor pressed the levitating screen once more to and the cling-clang, cling-clang of the revolving door started up to close the capsule.

                Amelia pressed her body to the glass to stare at the Professor’s scared face, but said nothing. He watched her, not caring that tears started to well up and they started to fall . . . slowly, but they did. She looked at the smoke and the walls that were crumbling to dust around her.

                “Professor,” she mumbled to herself as she felt her stomach churn and fight the rest of her insides until the light of the capsule blurred her view of the smoke surrounding the Professor like a pack of hungry wolves trapped a gazelle with the gazelle knowing he was going to die right there and then.