Microcosm

I grabbed the chemical fire extinguisher from by the door, and gave an experimental squeeze of the handle. White foam rocketed out. I thought ‘why not?’, and unleashed some serious powdered fury on the nearby lockers. With my tension alleviated, I raised the extinguisher above my head and grabbed it firmly with both hands. Taking a deep breath, I slammed the extinguisher down hard on the knob. The extinguisher sparked, and shot out of my hands, mainly because I was flying backwards through the air. Oh yeah. Metal conducts electricity. Damn.

I raised myself up on my elbows, and looked back at the door that was now ten metres away. The gap where the door handle had been was sparking like crazy. The extinguisher was smoking, and didn’t look healthy. As I watched, the powder caught alight. ‘How iron-‘ I began, but was interrupted midway by an explosive blast of air and foam that sent me tumbling back another ten metres.

I raised myself up on my elbows, and looked back at the door that was now twenty metres away. Groaning, I sat up. I wasn’t having the best of days. After shakily rising to my feet I lurched forward, and kept moving mainly due to momentum, not because I particularly wanted to. I reached the door, and then stopped. I breathed in, and then kicked out at the wooden part of the door. The hinges gave way, and the door collapsed inwards rather impressively. I strutted through the threshold. Clenching my fist, I suddenly noticed the mysterious absence of anything in my palm, and then hastily ran outside to grab the Shifter. I strutted through the threshold. The arrow was pointing at a trolley full of microscopes.

I reached towards the trolley, and the Shifter whined. I took my hand away, and the sound stopped. I reached forward again, and the hum restarted. I picked up a microscope, and was startled to hear a ‘ding’ noise that sounded suspiciously like a checkout at the supermarket. I tossed up whether or not to take the microscope. It seemed apparent that the Switcher felt it necessary to steal the apparatus, but I wasn’t sure whether I should. The trolley had twelve microscopes; could they cope with eleven? I decided that they could. Heaving up the microscope, I grasped it with both hands and walked out into the courtyard.

Shocking

In the main portion of the screen was a 3D arrow, and it was currently pointing down the street, away from me. I suddenly noticed that underneath the yellow date was some red text. It read: ‘Displacement: 2015’, which meant very little to me. Since I had nothing better to do, and it didn’t seem like there were any police or firemen on the way to fix my – no, the – house, I followed the arrow.

I was at an intersection in roughly fifteen seconds, and since there were no cars around (the birds still twittered sweetly in the trees) I crossed straight away. I realised that the arrow on the Switcher was pointing directly to its target – whatever that was - and was not taking into account the solid objects in my path.

As I continued up the street, the green arrow started to slide more to the left. I decided that I’d cut through the school. Swinging open the gate, I realised that this was the first time I’d ever voluntarily entered the schoolyard. I laughed uproariously, which would have suggested to any watchers-on that I wasn’t exactly coping with these circumstances very well. I paused, and then yelled out ‘I’m not exactly coping with this very well’ across the yard as clarification. This action, when combined with little understanding about what was happening, made me feel really good and self-important; it was a nice change from my usual mood. It was a pity, in a way, that someone was watching.

The green arrow was now yellow, and pulsating. It glided round to point at a classroom; the science labs. The arrow was pointing directly through the door. I tried the handle, and was shocked to discover that the handle was electrocuted and that I’d been, well, shocked. This was a surprising security measure for a state school. I stood well back from the door, and looked around. This wasn’t my school. The buildings, while in the same place, were completely different. The aging ‘60s classrooms were now white and glistening. The rusty metal playground looked to be made of some kind of plastic polymer. All in all, it was impressive just from comparison to the previous school, not from the new technology.

I turned back to the door, and tried to work out my options. The arrow on the Shifter was strangely hypnotic. ‘Maybe I should just give up, and go home,’ suggested one part of my brain. ‘To where?’ remarked another part of my brain, snidely. I sighed in a way that I was getting pretty good at, thanks to the myriad of reasons for sighing that had already presented themselves today. I made a decision.

Both

The issue with the darkness was once again resolved by the raising of eyelids from over eyes, not unlike the removal of the skin from an onion and with a similar amount of tears. Seeing the smoking rubble of my house was comforting, in a kind of depressing way. I stumbled over to the remains of the bathroom, trying to find the man that gave me the Shifter. I found him relatively easily, and began to berate him about what had just happened, when I realised he hadn’t replied. Or breathed.

‘Damn,’ I swore.

I looked around. Something wasn’t right. I glanced over the rubble of my house. It seemed different. I stared at the bricks. They were a different colour than I remembered. I picked one up, and was startled to find it was practically weightless, but as solid as a, well, brick. A wind picked up; it should have lifted rubbish from the gutter and flown it down the street, but the air was surprisingly clean. Turning around, I saw that my neighbours’ houses were completely different. The roofs were made of dark solar pads, and all the houses looked straighter, neater and cleaner.

I walked towards the street, and then began to walk up the street. Birds were chirping in the trees, and just as I was marvelling at the fact that there were live birds in my neighbourhood a rush of air hit me in the back, and made me trip up slightly. Spinning, I saw that a vehicle had just sped past, silently. I could hear no engine noise whatsoever. I suddenly understood.

This wasn’t 2006.

There was a vibration in my pocket. Reaching in, I felt the Shifter throbbing gently. I picked it up, and felt a piece of the metal slide up. Looking at it I realised that a cover rested on top of a screen, and could slide off when needed. There was a blinking yellow light in the corner of the screen.

’22 February 2006,’ it flashed.

‘Crap,’ I sighed.

Cleansing

The left hand half was marked SHIFTER, in unobtrusive white lettering. It had a white lever inset in the side. Apple would have been proud of it. It seemed to ooze expensive-ness. I carefully slipped it back in my pocket. In the other hand I was surprised to see a reflective black container. I cautiously unscrewed the lid, and then wafted some air above the spout towards me. It smelled vaguely antiseptic. I tipped a drop out. It was green. It was, apparently, disinfectant.

There was an impatient cough from the man standing behind me. This reminded me of a few questions I had meant to ask.

I began with ‘Where am I?’
‘You’re ho-‘
‘Who are you?’, ‘What happened?’ and ‘What…happened?’ followed swiftly after the first.
‘You’re ho-‘
‘Who are you? What is…? Where am I?’ spouted uncontrollably from my mouth.
‘You-‘
‘What happened?’ I shouted, my vocal box now having succumbed to the pressure and coming along for the ride. The man in front of me was silent. I swallowed.

‘You have something for me,’ the man continued, with a glare. He pointed at my right hand.
‘This?’ I questioned.
‘The one that isn’t the Shifter.’
I held out my right hand. He took the flask.
‘What’s this?’ asked the man.

(I had three brilliant flashes of insight. The first was that the man had an English accent, which was quickly followed by the second – an understanding that he didn’t really want to be here. The third was a sudden blast of self-analysis with the realisation that neither of the previous insights were all that brilliant, and in fact, had I been paying attention I would have picked it up earlier.)

‘What?’ I questioned, switching back to the real world. ‘This? I think it’s antiseptic.’
‘Anti…septic? We’ll work it out. Give me your hand.’

I held out my left hand, which I realised was still clutching the Shifter. The man pulled down the lever. It sprung back, like a poker machine. He handed the Shifter back, and hesitated.

‘…Thanks,’ he said.

I wanted to reply, but that dizzy blackness was patching in again. It was different this time, though. It was hard to tell, but it was almost, just slightly, less black.