Slipping

Alex stared at his hands, certain there was a problem.

The air slipped over them like curls of heat from a burning candle. It was as if time itself was rushing through his fingers.

He waved his hand, and the ripples shimmered and continued. A deep terror rose.

He stood quickly and rushed along the sidewalk. The molecules of the air parted in a slipstream around his face. He broke into a run, and the effect only worsened.

He hurried for an exit from the park and raced across the street with horns blaring at him. There was no escape from the phenomenon. The swirling kaleidoscope of atoms was too much as he reached his apartment and scrambled up the stairs,

Overwhelmed, he unlocked the door and ducked inside. He collapsed to the hardwood floor and closed his eyes, hoping it would disappear.

For a moment, it did—until he heard the hushed rustle of atoms swishing together like a brush running through fine hair.

He couldn’t let it continue. He needed to end it, or else it would drive him mad.

There was no stopping it— any more than he could stop time. They’d continue to flow no matter what he did—even if he was no longer a part of it.

There was no escape.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. The atoms sliding over him distorted and diffused it. He felt like he was plummeting through space. Vertigo gripped him.

But as he stayed still, the current slowed and settled.

The sunlit ceiling came into focus. The shadow of a tree outside his window danced across it, and with it, the shadow of the surrounding molecules. They were everywhere.

Yet, his terror was gone, replaced by the sensation of floating, like a dandelion seed caught in the wind. He no longer felt the floor against his back or his clothes against his skin.

He was the floor. He was the clothes. He was the room. The tree outside became a part of him. And the apartment building. He stretched his fingers to the park, the grass, and the sun above.

He became a million dancing molecules spread across the universe.

He was all.