The lights in the apartment flickered several times before finally shutting off altogether. He’d had received a text message earlier that morning from his electric company, reminding him of today’s scheduled power outage, but the time between the notification and the actual outage felt much shorter than he had expected. He was playing his favorite VR MMORPG Titans of Baldorok, and was mid-raid when the electricity to his apartment went out, abruptly disconnecting him.
The quick disconnection from the game startled Cyrus, his heart racing as the vibrant world of Baldorok was instantly replaced by pitch blackness. It didn’t take long for him to realize what had happened and pull off his VR rig.
The surrounding darkness was also disorienting. Cyrus normally kept the drapes over his windows pinned closed, preferring the dim LED lighting to actual sunshine. He preferred to keep the outside world where it belonged. Preserving the sanctity of his home in this way was important to him. However, this level of darkness was beyond the norm, and Cyrus felt almost as if he’d gone blind which caused his earlier panic to return.
With an unsatisfying grumble, knowing there was nothing he could do about a scheduled power outage, he slowly set the headset on its charging rack beside his gaming chair. The movement was automatic, ingrained from countless hours of play. His apartment was now fully engulfed in darkness. Even so, the motion of setting the headset down was so ingrained that he had no problem placing it on its cradle.
After returning his headset to its charger, he fumbled around for his phone, almost knocking his drink to the floor in the process. He used a sealable bottle to drink from because he had done this exact thing multiple times before, but still, his anxiety rose as his fingers clumsily bumped into the bottle and it wobbled before returning to its stable upright position.
When his fingers finally brushed his phone’s screen, it illuminated, bringing a sense of reality back to the darkness and chasing away the childish fears of monsters, ghosts, or shadow figures that had begun to creep into Cyrus’s mind.
Cyrus was, to put it mildly, not a people person. Most would call him a recluse, a shut-in, but that suited him just fine. He preferred his life orderly, clean, and free of external distractions. While he had enjoyed TV in the past, he was caught up with the programs he liked most, so now consumed almost all his media through his VR headset. It offered an immersive escape that traditional TV simply couldn't match, especially from the comfort of his custom-built gaming chair.
A specific reason fueled this seclusion, a reason that haunted Cyrus every day of his life. Try as he might, he couldn’t suppress the memory.
This memory was of an event he had experienced at age fourteen. It had profoundly changed his life, shifting his mental state to its current, unhealthy condition.
While walking home from school on an otherwise typical Tuesday, Cyrus was engrossed in his handheld gaming device, trying to beat his high score on Hyruk Legends. He knew his house was the next one down; he'd walked this sidewalk so many times he could do it blindfolded.
But on this day, something different caught his attention. At first, he didn’t give it much thought, but then he realized the strange noise was coming from just ahead, from his own house.
The sound was familiar, like a person spraying water from a hose, and his mind initially assumed it was his mother outside watering her flowers. However, the intensity of the sound didn't seem to fit that scenario, and Cyrus’s curiosity peaked.
He was just looking up from his screen to determine what was actually making the noise when… his world was completely upended. His entire house exploded in a deafening roar, a fireball erupting from near its center.
Flames radiated outward, carrying debris from his house along with them. It appeared as though in slow motion, his brain struggling to process the surreal scene. He could almost pick out specific details—a piece of siding, the figurine from the window—but they seemed to float in a haze of fire and smoke.
The shockwave from the blast then pounded into him, ending the slow motion he had experienced, and caught him completely off guard, sending him hurtling backward, his entire body becoming airborne.
He was flung several feet from where he had been standing and landed hard on his back, hitting his head against the sidewalk with a sharp crack that he felt more than heard. The impact knocked him unconscious, causing a serious concussion that would leave him with lingering effects for months to come.
In that brief, surreal moment, as he flew through the air, a strange sense of calm descended upon him. He saw his house disintegrating into countless fragments, but it felt distant, unreal. It was as if he were watching a scene from an action movie rather than living through his own nightmare.
This detachment was his mind’s way of shielding him from the horror of what had just happened.
He had always loved action movies and enjoyed watching huge explosions on screen. But witnessing one in person, feeling the actual heat, the concussive wave, the explosive power radiating from the collapsing structure – and realizing that everything he owned was now gone – that changed his perspective. It shattered his innocent view of violence, and of life itself.
He remained there, in a coma, for several days, his fate hanging precariously in the balance. Outside his room, doctors and nurses spoke in hushed tones, their faces etched with concern.
When he finally awoke, it was to an empty hospital room. The only sounds he could hear as he lay there, unable to move, were the rhythmic whirring of machines around him and muffled voices in the hall.
His first thought, which brought with it a pang of fear, was to wonder why his parents weren’t there. His second was of the explosion, the terrifying images flooding back. The fear solidified.
Many questions, and many tears, surfaced that day as doctors and nurses poked and prodded, their faces a blur of hazy consciousness. He was examined from top to bottom and everywhere in between before finally being allowed to sit up and gently sip some warm broth.
Later that same day, he was visited by a kind lady who introduced herself as Ms. Norris. She wasn’t a police officer and didn’t dress like a typical doctor. She explained to Cyrus that she was a grief counselor. He stared at her blankly, the word 'grief' echoing in the sterile silence of the room.
It was Ms. Norris who gently told him what the police had pieced together: that several minutes after the explosion, his neighbors had come running out of their homes. They had found him on the sidewalk and called an ambulance. She explained that he had been rushed to the nearest hospital, then airlifted to the major trauma center in Washington D.C. once the severity of his injuries became clear. This, she added gently, was where he was now.
His immediate thought was to ask why he would need a grief counselor. His mind was still foggy, struggling to connect the dots. Instead, another question tumbled out: "Why are they saying those things about my parents?" He had caught snippets of hushed conversations from the hallway.
Ms. Norris bowed her head and gently took Cyrus’s hand. He flinched at the unexpected contact, but didn't pull away. “Cyrus,” she began softly, “there’s something I need to tell you, and it’s not going to be easy to understand or accept.”
She went on to explain that his parents, who worked for his home country's embassy, were actually foreign espionage agents. Or better known as; spies. Cyrus stared at her, the word hanging in the air like smoke.
Their cover had been compromised, and they had been killed, not by the USA, where they all lived, but by an unknown faction, most likely a bordering country to their own.
A paper trail, photos, and digital information proving their status had been released to the media at the same time as the explosion. This confirmed their identities as spies. It also proved to the world that he, Cyrus, had no knowledge of their activities and had taken no part in their undertakings.
Cyrus sat in stunned silence, unable to fully comprehend the enormity of what he was hearing. As Ms. Norris continued to speak, a fragment of memory surfaced.
He recalled overhearing a heated conversation outside his hospital room earlier that day. Two police officers had been arguing with some loud and unruly people just outside his door. Amidst the commotion, he had distinctly heard the word 'traitors' hissed with venom. There were other words which felt familiar, but his memory wasn’t clear enough for him to recall. These harsh, guttural sounds he vaguely recognized from his parents' hushed prayers. Prayers they had insisted he join, several times a day. The words echoed now, a dark counterpoint to the history lessons he'd learned in school.
Ms. Norris nodded solemnly, confirming his fears.
He came to understand that not only was he now homeless and traumatized, but his parents had severed ties with their own families when they moved to the United States. He had no idea who his relatives were, a fact that had never seemed important until now. But with everything and everyone in his life gone, the weight of the event began to truly sink in.
He spent the next few years in hospitals and rehabilitation centers, working on his physical and mental recovery. He had many therapy sessions, but he was never able to truly overcome the anxiety that now gripped him.
He developed a severe case of agoraphobia, making even the thought of going outside a terrifying ordeal. The trauma of the explosion, coupled with the crushing weight of his parents’ betrayal and their violent deaths, pushed him deeper into isolation.
He could no longer face the world outside, not with the whispers and stares, real or imagined, that seemed to follow him wherever he went, and not with the crushing knowledge of his parents' secret lives.
And that is why the darkness of his apartment, with the windows perpetually shrouded, became his refuge, the only place where he felt safe from the chaos of the outside world.
Throughout it all, Ms. Norris, who had since married and become Mrs. Norris, had remained a constant source of support. She had helped him secure financial assistance, arranged his move to this apartment complex, and always encouraged him to push his boundaries. Perhaps it was her unwavering encouragement, or maybe just the unusual absence of electricity, but as a single beam of sunlight peeked through the bottom of the drapes, Cyrus felt a flicker of amusement, and decided to let in a little fresh air.
Taking a deep breath, Cyrus moved to the window and drew back the curtains from the top center, careful not to unpin the material from the wall below. The sun streaming in was bright, almost blindingly so after the usual dimness of his apartment. The sky was clear, a vibrant shade of blue, with only small, puffy clouds dotting the horizon.
It took his eyes a few moments to acclimate to the brightness, and he blinked rapidly to help his pupils adjust. Once they had, he took another deep breath, choosing to make a bigger step than he'd taken in years, and reached for the window latch. Slowly, he unlocked the window and opened the pane.
A cool, fresh breeze streamed in as the pane slid down, carrying with it the sweet scent of lilacs. On this mid-May day in Edina, Minnesota, the trees were prevalent and in full bloom. He had moved to Edina for a number of reasons, a primary one being that he wanted to leave the area of his youth and the memories he still held of it. But he also knew that he needed to be close enough to a large metro area to maintain his secluded lifestyle.
Even though he rarely opened his curtains, Cyrus greatly appreciated the large lilac tree growing near his window. Its lavender blooms blocked much of the view of the rest of the complex. Though he rarely noticed the tree's placement, he was nonetheless glad that its presence added to his privacy and seclusion.
The blooms also brought a much-needed pop of color, he decided. They contrasted sharply with the mainly gray and black interior of his apartment, and brought a pleasant feeling as he stared at their fluttering leaves.
The breeze gently blowing through the open window was soothing, a welcome relief since the AC wasn't working. Cyrus was grateful that the temperature outside wasn’t too hot and that the open window allowed the gentle airflow to cool him off.
As Cyrus turned from the window to move into the kitchen, he caught a whiff of his apartment's stale air. He had apparently gone nose-blind to the mustiness, as one does when living in a place with little added air circulation. The apartment’s AC and heat pushed the air around, but without the introduction of new scents or the clearing out of old ones, the aroma tended to linger.
The floral-scented air briefly overpowered the usual mustiness, making Cyrus realize just how stuffy his place had become.
"Okay, this place needs a good airing out," Cyrus said aloud to nobody in particular. He was almost always alone, unless Mrs. Norris came over or a delivery driver insisted on knocking, but found that talking to himself didn’t mean he was crazy at all. It wasn’t as people suggested, that talking to oneself was a sure sign of mental disease. He often spoke aloud and found his own company quite pleasant, if he did say so himself.
With that thought, he made his way to the kitchen, where he opened the small window above the sink to encourage some added circulation. He then decided it would be a good idea to open all the windows in the apartment to really let the breeze take away the many manly smells clinging to the walls and carpet.
On his way out of the kitchen, he grabbed a tube of potato chips and popped them open as he moved down the hall to the bedroom.
A couple of steps down the hallway, his watch began to buzz and ring; he had set his ringtone to the familiar intro music from one of the old-school console games he played as a kid. Hearing the 8-bit digital music, he brought his wrist up to see who was calling and saw that it was his counselor, Mrs. Norris. He had left his actual phone on the table near his chair, so he tapped the screen on his watch and took the call on audio only.
“Hi, Mrs. Norris, I’m on my watch. We can switch to video once I get back to my phone if you’d prefer,” he said in greeting.
“Oh, hello, Cyrus, that’s okay. I’m actually glad to hear that you are away from your phone and that you sound like you’re doing well today,” the female voice on the other end of the line spoke in a soothing and cheerful tone. “I was a little concerned when the electricity went out that you would be having some anxiety issues.”
“The power company texted earlier and said it would be going out for a few hours today, so I knew what to expect, although it seemed to happen sooner than I thought it would,” Cyrus continued through the crunching of the chip he had stuffed in his mouth, the words coming out slightly muffled from the chewing. “It was a little triggering at first, but once I realized what was going on, I was okay. In fact, I’m actually opening the windows. The breeze outside feels nice, and I didn’t realize how stuffy this place had become.”
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“Oh, that’s a great idea, Cyrus,” Mrs. Norris said excitedly. “Have you thought any more about what we were talking about last week, maybe getting some sunshine? It’d be a perfect day to do that if you are comfortable enough.”
Cyrus visibly winced at the thought of going outside and was glad this conversation wasn’t on video chat. “Uhh…” he stuttered, “I hadn’t, but you are right, it is a nice day, and there’s nothing really for me to do inside, so… maybe?”
There was a short pause, and Cyrus swore he could hear Mrs. Norris’s huge smile as she beamed in delight at him even considering the idea. “Well, Cyrus, I think it would be a great idea if you feel up to it. I could even stop by if you would like a little extra encouragement.”
Cyrus liked Mrs. Norris, and she was one of the very few people he didn’t mind having over. He had followed her to Minnesota from Virginia, where the both had previously lived.
Cyrus liked Mrs. Norris, and she was one of the very few people he didn’t mind having over. She had followed him to Minnesota from Virginia, where she had previously lived.
Her husband was originally from St. Peter, Minnesota, which played a large part in their decision to move there. This all coincidentally happened around the same time that Cyrus was looking for a place away from the D.C. area. Mrs. Norris had mentioned their move to Cyrus, apologizing for having to end their counselor and patient relationship, and it had greatly influenced his own decision to relocate.
He was generally a clean person, so he wasn’t embarrassed about his apartment, but having people in his space always felt so intrusive, like they wanted something from him or judged him for being so reclusive. So, unless it was someone very special, he rarely allowed anyone over.
“Okay, well, I don’t want to bother you with that; I’m sure you have plans. I think I’ll be okay by myself,” Cyrus replied as he cranked open the window in his bedroom after removing the pins and setting them in a cup on his nightstand. “If I take a walk or something, though, I’ll let you know.”
There was some slight disappointment evident in Mrs. Norris’s voice as she replied, “Oh, okay, Cyrus.” After a brief pause, she added, “If you need anything from me, don’t hesitate to ask. You know I’m always here for you.”
To an extent, the relationship they had built was more than just counselor and patient. He had been there when her career had just started, and she had stuck with him throughout his life. He knew that, in some way, he was like a son to her, and he had to admit that she was also a type of replacement for the mother whom he no longer had.
A baby started crying in the background of the call as Cyrus spoke. “Okay, Mrs. Norris, I will let you know how things go today.”
Cyrus could hear Mrs. Norris’s footsteps as she walked over to where her baby was fussing. Her shoes clicked on the wooden floors, and the baby’s crying got louder as she drew nearer. “It sounds like I need to get back to Sophie anyway. Take care of yourself, Cyrus, and we can talk more tomorrow at our usual session.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Norris. Talk to you tomorrow,” Cyrus said and hung up the call. He was glad for the finality of the conversation and appreciated that Sophie, Mrs. Norris’s first child, provided the distraction to allow him to end it quickly. He knew he shouldn’t feel that way—she had always been so nice to him and had helped him beyond measure throughout the years—but he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable when talking about leaving his home.
Even though his parents had been found out to be spies, he was completely unaware of any of their doings and so had been able to claim the insurance policies they had left for him, both from the house they had owned and on their deaths. They may not have been loyal to this country or even the one they had lived in, but they had been prepared and loyal to him, leaving him with the ability to care for himself once they were gone. While this hadn’t made him rich, it had set him up with the things he needed and enough money in savings to lead a relatively easy life without having to work for anyone.
That didn’t mean he was totally idle, though. He still had a few side projects that made him some extra income, but they were more hobbies—things he enjoyed doing, like making cooking videos or proofreading and editing manuscripts. These activities were enjoyable for him rather than feeling like forced labor.
This is how he managed to live the life he did. He received some assistance from the state, mostly in the form of healthcare, but overall, he felt he contributed more to the economy than he took from it.
Cyrus made his way back into the living room and stared at his large gaming chair. He popped open the can of chips again and reflexively grabbed several, tossing them into his mouth with a crunch. He had intended to sit down and stare out the window while enjoying his snack, but the conversation had brought the idea of going for an actual walk to the forefront of his mind.
He looked down at his body. It wasn’t the lean, athletic shape he had as a kid; that body was long gone. What he saw now was pretty much just skin covering blubber. He hadn’t taken the initiative to keep up his physique. He didn’t exercise regularly, other than cleaning his house. His life revolved around playing video games, reading sci-fi and fantasy novels, and cooking. None of which required a lot of movement or strength.
He stood there and pondered his limited existence for several long moments, another couple of generic saddle-shaped, cheddar-flavored fried potato crisps entering his mouth as he did. He thought about how much life he had missed by locking himself away in his safe place.
‘Maybe I should go outside. The exercise would be good for me, so would the vitamin D from the sunshine. I could make a sandwich and have a little picnic down by the pond,’ he thought to himself as he mindlessly chewed and swallowed, the actual flavor lost on him after eating so many of the flavor-bombed chips over the years.
A small voice at the back of his mind made the case for staying inside, telling him, 'There’s nothing but violence and judgment outside, it’s not worth the effort. Just sit here and let nature take its course.'
This was the voice he listened to the most. It was the voice that had kept him safe. It had started almost immediately after the incident and had helped him stay alive and well for years now.
But as Cyrus continued to look from his body to the sunlit grass outside, a new, smaller voice entered the conversation in his head. 'But have you actually lived? You haven’t left here in over a year, and then only to get your medications that one time because the delivery was stalled. Is that really who you want to be?'
The iconic image of an angel and a demon sitting on his shoulders came to mind as the voices spoke to him. He could see and understand the veracity of each argument. It was easy for him to justify staying inside, hidden away from the scary parts of the world; but he also remembered how much fun he used to have when he was young. He understood that not everything was scary, and not everyone wanted his money or to cause him pain, but it was difficult to believe that anymore.
It was an argument he had with himself frequently, yet he almost always pushed away the voice telling him to be ‘normal.’ The smaller voice telling him that it would be okay to leave, that he might actually enjoy himself if he stepped outside.
His gaze rose to the window once more. He could see through the branches of the lilac tree to the pond in the distance, its water sparkling and ducks floating lazily on top. The fountain in the middle jetted upward, its plume shimmering as it cascaded back down into the water.
'You could take some of that popcorn you bought, that cardboard tasting stuff that you bought thinking you would snack on it instead of chips because it's ‘healthier’, out to the ducks. They won’t mind that it has no flavor,' the smaller voice spoke once more, its volume growing ever so slightly louder.
“There really isn’t anything to do here at the moment, is there?” Cyrus said aloud, in an attempt to convince himself.
He could feel his legs quiver as he seriously began considering the idea of having an outside excursion. He couldn’t decide if it was in anticipation, dread, or perhaps just the thought of having to actually exercise.
He heard small birds tweeting outside his window, and the scent of the lilac bush wafted in strongly once more. The smell was sweet and spoke of relaxation and contentment.
Cyrus looked around his apartment; everything was in place. There was nothing that was going to expire or change if he went outside for a little while.
With a huge inhalation of air, Cyrus closed his eyes and made up his mind. “Okay, let’s do this,” he said to himself, reaffirming his decision and gearing himself up.
The next few minutes were spent making a sandwich with turkey, roast beef, white cheddar, pickles, lettuce, and honey-dijon mustard on rye bread; mixing a mixed-berry smoothie with a large scoop of vanilla ice cream; and stuffing the remaining chips from the tube, some cookies, diet soda (of course), and the aforementioned cardboard-tasting popcorn into a small duffel bag.
Cyrus put on his best walking shoes, which just so happened to be the only pair of actual shoes he owned; the rest were slippers he wore inside. He then stood at the door to his apartment, his hand resting lightly on the knob.
‘Am I really going to do this?’ he asked himself. He was already sweating, partially from the exertion of getting everything ready, but mostly from the thought of leaving.
‘You got this! Just think of how good you’ll feel once you are outside with the grass and sunshine, feeling the breeze and smelling nature,’ the once small voice spoke inside his mind once again.
Cyrus could swear he heard a condescending ‘pfft’ come from the other voice in his mind, letting him know how foolhardy it felt this outing was.
“I can do this,” he said aloud, trying to force his hand to twist the knob. The sweat from his palm made his hand slide around the silver metal doorknob, forcing him to grip even tighter, his knuckles whitening.
“Come on, you stupid door,” he growled. He wasn’t sure if he was mad at the door or his sweaty palm, but it seemed like the universe was fighting him. He was trying to do something good, to get outside and fight against the mental shackles placed on him, and these obstacles were making the task that much more difficult.
Cyrus inhaled deeply, wiped his palm on his shorts, and gripped the handle once again. This time, he twisted as he exhaled, and the door unlatched. He pulled the door inward into his living room and faced the hallway.
He had overcome the first obstacle. Now he needed to cross the invisible barrier that kept him separate from the rest of the world. Cyrus knew it was all in his mind, but he swore he could see a shimmering blue force field partitioning his apartment from the hallway.
Closing his eyes, he focused on his breathing once again and extended his right foot forward. His foot easily passed through the mental barrier and landed on the hallway floor with its diamond-shaped gray and blue repetitive designed carpet.
Opening his eyes again, he saw that his foot was actually outside his doorway. With another bout of effort, he pushed himself forward and forced his left foot to join him.
A wave of tension rolled over him as his torso passed through the plane of the mental barrier he had erected.
Then Cyrus realized he had made it through and was now outside.
Immediately, the warring voices in his head began competing for dominance, almost screaming at each other in their bid to make Cyrus move either forward or in reverse. One side encouraged him, telling him to continue outside and that what he was doing was great, while the other reprimanded him for leaving, warning him of the dangers lurking in the outside world and demanding he turn around and get back inside.
Cyrus closed his eyes again, focusing on his breathing and simply listening to the world around him, hoping to silence the voices. Luckily, there weren’t any other people in the hallway; their voices would have tipped the scales and sent him running back to his sanctuary.
He did hear a dog barking in the distance and the same birds singing as he had heard inside. The sounds of nature were muted, but encouraging, easing the tension rather than adding to the fright in his anxiety-ridden mind.
With another effort of will, Cyrus pulled the door closed behind him and heard the telltale click of the lock as the handle slid into place. He had a self-locking door, and only by having a specific key card or being able to log into the app on his phone could he get back in.
He made sure he had both the key card and his phone on him, with the app open just in case he needed to re-enter quickly.
It was only about four steps to the end of the hall, where a glass door covered in children’s sticky handprints kept out the elements. It took Cyrus several more seconds to gather the courage to take those four steps, contending with the mental juggle he faced every time he tried to leave his apartment.
Once he was ready, he slowly and deliberately stepped forward until he found himself gripping the handle to the door to the outside, his brain protesting the entire time.
His apartment was his sacred space, but the apartment building, in general, was also a type of sanctuary. Once he moved through this next door, he would truly be outside his comfort zone and away from shelter. Once he was truly outside, he would be vulnerable.
It took Cyrus several more moments of listening and breathing, calming himself, and intently focusing on the encouraging voice in his head, but eventually, he found the strength to pull open the door, exposing himself to the vast world around.
A cool breeze immediately flowed over him; it was humid outside, but the breeze was refreshing. The temperature wasn’t overly warm, and the smell of freshly cut grass filled his nostrils, the scent carried on the wind.
He could hear the whir of the lawnmower as it continued its work, its job here around his building already finished. His ears discerned the trickle of water from the fountain and the quacks from the ducks as they blended in with the normal sounds of the city: the horns, engines, and people.
And that was the crux of Cyrus’s problem: people. Nature he could deal with. Nature followed rules; it had hierarchies and did things out of necessity, not emotion. People were the opposite. People did things because they wanted to, because it felt good, or made them money. People did things that made no sense; they hurt each other, deceived themselves as well as one another. People were the scary part.
Now that he was beyond the doors, outside where anything could happen, Cyrus both froze and melted at the same time. He was still, frozen in place, but his emotional baggage, the coldness that surrounded his heart, melted as he felt the peace that can only be found in nature.
He stood there for several moments, the happy, encouraging voice singing its praises, while the now smaller, negative voice grumbled in a dark corner.
Finally, he began walking, placing one foot in front of the other as he slowly made his way away from the apartment building.
It took Cyrus several minutes, his pace slow and tentative, but he eventually reached a small table near the edge of the pond. A few other people were in the area. One person walked a pair of small brown dogs, while an obviously romantic couple enjoyed lunch by the water, apparently having a similar idea as he had. A small group of workers was also present, clad in bright yellow safety vests and matching hard hats. They wielded weed eaters and leaf blowers, trimming and cleaning the areas the lawnmower couldn’t reach.
For Cyrus, anxiety continued to mount as he made his way to the table, but no one seemed to pay him any attention; this fact allowed him to push forward. He was drenched in sweat, and his heart thudded loudly in his ears when he arrived, but he sat down at the table and began removing the food he had packed from his bag, vowing to make it through this ordeal.
‘I’ve made it this far; I am going to finish,’ the mantra repeated in his mind.
He took out the sandwich and twisted the lid off the bottle of diet soda, setting up a nice eating area for himself. Some small flies and a bee felt entitled to his food, but he shooed them away as he began eating his impromptu picnic.
As time passed, sitting in the sun and feeling the breeze, his anxiety lessened. He was being left alone, enjoying himself outside, with the ducks coming up to gather the popcorn he had thrown to them. The insects were annoying but tolerable, and the sensation of being free, open, and unrestricted was a balm for his anxiety-ridden brain.
Mrs. Norris often encouraged him to do small things like this, to open his windows, or venture out for a walk in the sun. She would tell him, “I know it feels wrong at first, but the overall benefit of being outside, feeling the air and sun will outweigh the anxiety.” He knew logically this was true, but getting over that initial bout of fear and anxiety was something he rarely had the strength to do.
Cyrus even found himself smiling after a while. He had finished his sandwich and actually enjoyed watching the ducks squabble over the small white kernels he threw to them. The sounds of the world seemed to melt into a small buzz at the back of his mind. He was still aware of its presence, but it was easily overlooked for the moment.
He began to wonder if this was how ‘normal’ people felt.
‘If I could feel like this all the time, I wouldn’t have to hide away so much,’ he thought to himself while tossing another handful of the flavorless popcorn to the ducks and other small birds now surrounding him.
Cyrus felt the sun warming his back and stretched his arms up to meet it. He cracked his neck from side to side, rolling it and letting his nerves relax. He was actually feeling good. Mrs. Norris’s words felt true. He had pushed through his anxiety, the voices still whispered in his mind, but they were distant, he was able to push them away and simply live in the moment, enjoying the day and the warmth now covering his back.
Then he realized the sun was beaming down from the West, not the North. From his right side, not on his back, and he turned to verify.
He found that the sun was indeed more to his right than to his back, yet the heat from behind him was growing in intensity. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was warmer than the rest of his body.
Continuing to turn around to see what might be causing such an unusual sensation, he found nothing there but his apartment building. Then he noticed what looked like small reflective particles raining around him.
The heat, which had been centered on his back, expanded and now engulfed his entire body, and a strange, almost weightless sensation quickly overcame him.
The fear of the unknown caused Cyrus’s stomach to jump into his throat as if he were on the steep descent of a tall roller coaster. Panic washed over him, and a new layer of sweat rapidly dampened his clothes.
The reflective particles multiplied exponentially, and Cyrus found he couldn’t move. He was surrounded by them.
The surrounding world quickly faded until all he could see were the silvery shiny points of light holding him in place. The sensation of heat was replaced by a feeling of rising too quickly in an elevator, as if his feet were trying their hardest to be in the spot his head was currently occupying. His heart pounded in his chest, and a wave of dizziness made him feel as though he might vomit as his vision began to blur around the edges.
Then, after being bound for what felt like an eternity but was probably only twenty or so seconds, the encircling particles simply evaporated, and Cyrus’s vision returned; the feeling of rapidly rising also ending.
Unfortunately, as Cyrus’s eyes readjusted, the park with its freshly cut grass and shimmering pond was no longer surrounding him. What he saw now reminded him more of one of the video games he played than the real world, and Cyrus’s hands reflexively went to his head to double-check he wasn’t actually wearing his VR headset.
