The Subatomic Kid

by George Earl Parker

  Time passed very slowly, until there was a knock at the door. Mr. Jenkins stretched his long form lazily, stood up, walked to the door and stepped outside. John saw it as a moment of opportunity; he scribbled on the paper, grabbed his backpack and left by another door.

  ***

  In the hallway Mr. Jenkins stared at a security guard.

  “Everybody has to leave the building, sir.”

  “What do you mean?” asked the teacher. “I have work to do.”

  “I appreciate that, sir, but I also have a job to do, and my orders are to clear the building.”

  “But I have a student on detention; and he’s trying to compose a poem!” Mr. Jenkins said irritably.

  “Well, he’ll have to do it outside,” the guard replied.

  Resigned, the teacher returned to the classroom. Not seeing John, he walked over to the desk and picked up the piece of paper he had left behind. “Excuse this room without me in it, I’ll be back in just a minute,” he recited out loud and smiled. “Not bad,” he added, “not bad at all!”

  ***

  John rushed across the huge ballroom, disappeared into the bathroom, hurried into one of the stalls, pulled the comic book from his backpack and began to devour it. His passion for comic books was hard for him to break; they supplied food for his imagination, nourishment for his psyche, and sustenance for his soul. He had to read at least one a day, even if he’d read it before. There were hundreds of them stacked in the bottom of his closet; they were his stash, his sanity. Just knowing they were there elevated his comfort level; his life would be meaningless without them.

  ***

  The teacher waddled out of the school carrying a briefcase stuffed with exercise books. The guard waited for him at the door.

  “Goodnight, sir,” he said. “By the way, what happened to that kid?”

  “He left,” Mr. Jenkins replied.

  “Did he finish his poem?”

  “Yes, and it was quite good too.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” the guard said as he closed the door, locked it, and began patrolling the perimeter.

  ***

  Doctor Leitz stalked down the spiral staircase toward the ballroom with Hunter following close behind.

  “So, where’s the lab, Doc?” Hunter asked, puffing on his cigar.

  “You’re standing in it,” Leitz replied.

  Hunter surveyed the huge empty space. “I don’t know what kind of trick you’re trying to pull,” he said, “but there’s nothing here.”

  Leitz crossed the room and opened a panel in the wall. Then he took a key from his pocket, inserted it into a lock, turned it, and pressed a large red button above it.

  Hunter looked on in wonder as the nineteenth century ballroom began to metamorphose into a twenty-first century laboratory. Thick shutters slid down and covered all of the windows. Shiny aluminum air ducts came out of secret compartments in the ceiling and descended downward. The floor opened up and a stainless steel control panel emerged, and beyond that a column appeared topped by a device that could only be described as a ray gun.

  “So, this is where the money went,” Hunter blurted out with a smile.

  “Do you think I spent it frivolously?” Leitz asked in a sharp tone.

  “That remains to be seen, Doc.”

  He opened a closet and took out a shiny silver suit and a helmet. “Here, put this on,” he said as he handed it to Hunter. “The process generates a tremendous amount of heat, and I would hate to burn you to a crisp.”

  Hunter grabbed the suit with a sudden look of annoyance on his face. Doctor Leitz’ scientific preoccupation, however, prevented him from observing this or any other emotional outburst. Right now he was a god about to add a new wrinkle to the fabric of the universe, and Hunter was no more than a pesky mosquito buzzing in his ear.

  ***

  John turned the last page of the comic book and found that the hero was left dangling on the horns of a dilemma. Would he survive or not? The answer would not be known until he purchased next week’s edition. He felt let down; he had half a story in his head and next week was such a long way off. He stuffed the comic book into his pocket, hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder and walked to the bathroom door.

  The moment he opened it he knew something was wrong; an intense bright light beamed into the room and almost knocked him backwards. As his eyes adjusted to the glare, he saw the huge room was filled with shiny metal surfaces, and in the middle of it all were two strange figures in silver suits, wearing mirrored visors on their helmets.

  He closed the door and leaned against it, breathed deeply and told himself not to panic—then he panicked. Weird scenarios flashed through his head, and the weirdest one kept coming back again and again: The bathroom has been abducted by aliens! But why? Why on earth would aliens want a bathroom? Was it something to do with the comic book?

  ***

  Leitz sat at his console fine-tuning the equipment. The console was covered with dials, buttons, switches, slide controls, electronic readouts, in fact all manner of gadgetry that the good doctor felt he needed to manipulate the subtle streams of atomic particles whose configuration gave all matter its own peculiar shape and held it spellbound.

  Standing behind him, Hunter watched as Leitz reached up and turned a television monitor on, and the image flickered into shape: an old wooden kitchen chair painted red, against a black and white graph background.

  ***

  John had never felt quite this strange before; reality as he knew it had ceased to be. He had simply opened a door on what he expected to be a familiar scene, and had encountered the unfamiliar. His mind was a blaze of confusion, his heart was racing, blood surged through his veins, and his breaths came out short and shallow.

  Still, somewhere deep inside himself he knew he couldn’t stay here cowering in a bathroom; he had to get away. To where, he didn’t know, but at least he had to try. Summoning all the strength he had left, he pulled the door open and ran out. The bright light hit him first; there was so much of it, it was like a fog. Then there was a deafening sound, and he thought he’d better make himself some earplugs before his head exploded. Crouching in a corner, he began shredding pages of the comic book and rolling them into tight little balls.

  ***

  Doctor Leitz was now working on pure adrenaline…every switch, button, and dial in front of him was a product of his imagination; they were the variables of his formula for success. He fine-tuned all of them to assure that the outcome of the experiment met his expectations. Above him, the image on the monitor was washed out by the intense light. He adjusted the contrast and the kitchen chair on the graph background came back into ghostly focus.

  He sat back and flexed his fingers; the moment had come for the beginning of the endgame. He flipped a switch and an electronic readout displayed the words: ATOMIC SUSPENSION UNIT. He stabbed a button and another read: STANDBY. Leitz relaxed momentarily as Hunter gazed over his shoulder, the whole scene eerily mirrored in their visors.

  ***

  After pushing huge wads of paper into his ears, John took off in search of a way out of this madness. It was like he was lost in a hall of crazy mirrors; every surface reflected his distorted image, and the intensity of the light made him feel like he was dissolving into nothingness.

  With every step becoming more frantic than the last, he wound his way through the stainless steel maze until he turned a corner and saw what he was looking for, a red chair standing in front of a huge graph background. More importantly, behind the chair was a hole in the wall, a chute going somewhere—and anywhere would be preferable to where he was.

  ***

  Leitz was becoming drunk with anticipation, and he was giddy from the flawless way his machinery was performing the functions he had intended. He also knew the burst of energy he was about to unleash was so powerful it could potentially blow the town and a good amount of the surrounding countryside clear off the map.

  He hesitated for a moment and doub
le-checked all of the output dials. He needed a small, localized explosion at the sub molecular level—not an explosion that would destroy, but one that would unglue the atomic structure and suspend it until he reconfigured it into a new shape, weight, and density.

  The thoughts danced in slow motion through his mind as he stabbed at the penultimate button on the control panel, and the electronic readout glowed: MOLECULAR ACCELERATOR.

  A low hum began, so deep it could not be heard, but Hunter felt it. It was so pronounced, he thought he was going to come apart at the seams, and it got deeper and deeper, until every molecule in the room was vibrating at the same rate.

  ***

  John felt the low rumble too; it affected his vision. His eyeballs felt like they were bouncing around in their sockets, and the blood throbbed in the veins throughout his body. He noticed another phenomena; he had the feeling his feet were becoming one with the floor. He knew if he didn’t do something soon, he wouldn’t be able to move; it was his final motivation, and he began running toward the chair.

  ***

  Leitz stared fixedly at another dark readout below the last one until it glowed: MAXIMUM OSCILLATION.

  He opened a small panel, moved his finger over the firing button and watched the countdown begin: FIVE…FOUR…THREE…

  ***

  John felt the gravity in the room double, and he could have sworn that he was running in slow motion, but he knew this was impossible. So he ignored the feeling, and focused all of his attention on the chair.

  ***

  Leitz flexed his finger in anticipation as the countdown fell: TWO…ONE…ZERO.

  He stabbed the button down and a brilliant white light completely obliterated every feature in the room as the huge ray gun above him exploded into life.

  ***

  John leapt onto the chair at exactly the same time that the gun unleashed its deadly subatomic ray, and as he disappeared into the hole in the wall, both he and the chair dissolved into clouds of billions of shining particles that shone super brightly and then were gone.

  ***

  As the room returned to normal, Doctor Leitz hit the SUBATOMIC MANIPULATION SWITCH, and as if by magic, glowing particles appeared from nowhere and lazily coalesced into a bright yellow sunflower thrusting itself jokingly out of a bright red flowerpot.

  Hunter lifted his visor and stared at the video monitor. “Holy moley,” he said incredulously. “Did that used to be the chair?”

  Leitz lifted his visor. “Yes, it used to be the chair.”

  “Well, you were right,” he said, “That is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  Doctor Leitz turned from him in disgust, and began re-calibrating his machinery. Regardless of the outcome of the experiment, he had opened a portal into the unknown. The mystery of transmogrification was within his grasp; the door once sealed was now opened. His mind raced; he had unglued the elements that held space and matter together, and he had reconfigured them with his mind. This was the discovery he was born to unearth…this was his legacy to the world; in one push of a button he had become the supreme being he had always known he was. He smiled. Phenomenal, he thought, absolutely phenomenal.

  Chapter 4

  BLOWN INTO BEING

  John felt like his brain had exploded. One moment he was heading into a hole in the wall, and the next he was in a cloud of stars. But not just any stars; these stars were alive, or more accurately, they were living and dying at incredible rates of speed.

  He had no idea how he knew this, he just did; it was as if his consciousness existed in a billion places at once, watching the beginning and the end of everything. Then just as he’d exploded he began to fall like dust through eternity, until there was nothing left but the drumbeat of his heart, which inexplicably also disappeared into a silence that masqueraded as sleep.

  He awoke in darkness and looked around; it was so black he couldn’t even see his fingers right in front of his eyes…and then his memory kicked in. Did he even have any fingers, or any eyes for that matter?

  “Hello?” he ventured hoarsely. “Is anyone out there?”

  “Well, of course there is, there’s me!” came the curt reply.

  “Who’s me?” he mumbled, trying to appear as unthreatening as possible.

  “I am,” said the voice, which boomed like a thunderclap.

  This voice isn’t mine, John thought, so he spoke back to it.

  “Hey, me?” he ventured, “Where am I?”

  “Well...where are any of us really?” came the enigmatic reply.

  “I’ve just been blown up,” he whispered. “Is this heaven or hell?”

  “It’s neither,” said the voice, as a tiny mouse appeared in a pool of light before his eyes, standing on its hind feet and holding its tail in the crook of its arm. “It’s the Subatomic World.”

  “The Subatomic World!” cried John, “That sounds a lot like hell.”

  The mouse leaned closer, and peered at him intently. “Listen,” it ventured, “it appears that you have two personas—one public and the other private. I like the private though; it’s more complex, and therefore more interesting. Would you mind awfully if I addressed myself to that aspect? I feel it may have more to teach me.”

  “I can’t teach you anything.” John said irritably. “Just get me out of here.”

  The mouse gazed at him intently, and idly brushed its whiskers. “That’s not very polite, is it?”

  John quickly began to rethink his outburst, he had no idea where he was, and he was conversing with a mouse. “No it’s not,” he said remorsefully. “I apologize. Do you have a name?”

  “Of course,” came the reply, “don’t you?”

  “Yes, mine’s John. What’s yours?” The pool of light and the mouse disappeared into silence for a moment and then suddenly there was music, lights, lasers, and a huge projection screen featuring the most outlandish singer he’d ever seen. He strutted back and forth across a stage, pointing and gesticulating as he sang.

  I am the Master of the Perfect Word

  of shadows and of light,

  I am the singer of songs unheard

  the bringer of delight,

  I am secrets never known

  that dreams nor time have said,

  I am the fool inside your clothes

  the thoughts inside your head.

  John could have sworn he was still lying down in the dark, but at the same time he was watching a rock concert with thousands of other people.

  “I am a song…” said the Master, and suddenly everything disappeared and John saw the crazy rock star sitting before him in a meditative pose, chanting: “…in my most perfect form.”

  “A song! How can you be a song?”

  “A song is the most perfect use of vocabulary; a few very well-chosen words dance on waves of music, invoking emotional and intellectual truth. Could any use of words be better than that?”

  “I just don’t see how you can be a song!” John exclaimed dourly.

  “You think a lot don’t you?” said the Master. “Does anything ever become of those thoughts?”

  “Why does everything keep changing here?” John asked as the Master transformed back to the timid mouse.

  “In the Subatomic World we can become anything. Change is the only constant. Past and future don’t exist, there is only now.”

  “I could never change like that,” John said, “It’s impossible in my world; everything is always the same: boring!”

  “This is your first inter-dimensional journey, isn’t it?! I don’t think it’s ever been done before, but we always knew it was possible; anything is possible in the Subatomic World.”

  “What are you talking about? I can’t understand a single word you say. I just want to go home. How far away from the earth am I?”

  “Well let me see!” The mouse feigned calculation while John watched impatiently. “Why…you’re just a thought away; how much farther away can you get from anywhere?”


  John tried to gather himself together mentally. He thought very hard, and the more he thought the more he realized that his situation was so insane, he had no words to describe it.

  “What is happening to me?” he pleaded. “This is all very scary.”

  “Well, from what I can gather,” the mouse replied, “you had a particle collision.”

  “A particle collision!” exclaimed John. “What’s that?”

  “It’s the precursor to altering the structure of matter, the gateway to the subatomic world.”

  “I must be dead,” John said, “I have to be dead.”

  “No, not dead,” said the mouse as he turned into a toad from which John cringed reflexively. “In the Subatomic World we change from one state to another all of the time, especially when we’re being watched!”

  John was wordless; he simply stared at the ugly toad.

  “Yes, there’s something about an audience that just makes time stand still,” the toad said with a croak, “Don’t you think?

  John must have been in shock, because he just couldn’t bring himself to respond.

  “Don’t you feel time has stopped for you, and is moving backwards?”

  “Time can’t stop!” he stammered, bursting back to life full of righteous indignation. “Let alone move backwards!”