In-person school started, Synesthesia

 In-person school started up for us today. It was pretty good. Everyone had to wear masks and only two bathrooms were open on campus for them to use.

My wife told me that one reason I was afraid to get started with just writing down my stories is because there was too much pressure--pressure to get it published or that it had to be perfect or so forth. She suggested that I just sit down and write something short, just for fun. Here it goes.

Synesthesia

Mark ducked down beneath the counter and sensed again. How much time did he have? He sensed about a minute. Great, he thought.

Mark quickly took a look around the darkened room. It was the middle of the night, in the middle of an empty school building, so of course it was dark. Plus, the Lopers had cut off the power. That was fantastic. Mark could only see because of the moonlight coming in through the window. He crept past the serving trays and cash registers over to the window and sensed again. Three minutes. Good, so this was a good idea.

He silently got up on the counter and undid the latch on the window, then opened it and hopped out.

Five seconds.

Crap.

He hastily got back inside and swiftly shut and locked the window behind him, then leaped down from the counter and bolted towards the door. He heard the window shatter behind him as a member of the Lopers came crashing through after him. Of course they were watching the outside of the building, idiot, Mark thought to himself. He crashed through the doors into the empty cafeteria and slid over against the wall. The man followed through a few seconds later, pointing his gun in front of him with a laser beam shining out from it.

Mark sensed again and felt that he had about sixteen seconds. As the man passed the spot where he was hiding, Mark swiftly went backwards, back into the kitchen, before the door closed shut. He slipped passed it and the door closed behind him, and then quickly ran back to the now broken and open window. 

Mark figured that if the Lopers has posted people outside the school, and the man covering this area had left it to go looking around the cafeteria, then the cost should be clear for this area now. Mark hopped up on the counter and through the window, trying to not make too much noise on the broken shards of glass littering the floor.

He crouched down in the shadows on the outside, his heart pounding. He sensed that he had about a minute and a half. Sweet, he thought, that's the most time I've had all night.

He carefully skirted around the outside of the building. He had to get out of there if he wanted to live to see tomorrow. They thought he was in the building, but if he could get away from it... he spotted a large tall bush, and got ready to make a break for it.

He bolted out from the side of the building, headed straight for the bush. He sensed himself again. Three seconds. Crap. Two seconds. It was too far away. One second. Mark dropped to the ground as a gunshot run out.

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ONE WEEK EARLIER

Mark sat in front of the school's office. Again. How many times had he been here in the past semester? Five? Six? Mark had lost count. He glanced over to the doors in the hallway. The room numbers next to each of the doors seemed different shades. Some blue, some red, some yellow. Same old, same old. He stared up at the boring white tile ceiling and popped his gum, imagining what his next punishment would be. Maybe expulsion. That would stink.

Finally, the secretary Mrs. Hill came out. "Mr. Fields will see you now," she said with a stern look on her face.

"Well, it's about time," Mark said, getting up, sticking his gum to the bottom of the seat so that Mrs. Hill couldn't see. Mark walked into the office, past the main desk, and went into Mr. Fields' office. He plopped himself down upon the seat in front of the desk and looked up at Mr. Fields. "Hello again," Mark said.

Mr. Fields just sighed as Mrs. Hill shut the office door behind Mark. "Mark," Mr. Fields began. "You're a Senior now, Mark. You have your entire life in front of you. Just one more semester and you're off into the real world."

"Yes," said Mark. "So you're going to ruin and mess up the rest of my life by expelling me or anything, are you? That would be really unfair to my future. You'd hate to have that on your head, wouldn't you?"

Mr. Fields raised his eyebrows. "Mark, the reason you are in here is your own doing, not mine. You do realize that we have security cameras in the halls, don't you?"

Mark shrugged. Truth was, he thought he had hacked into that system, but he guessed he had hacked in wrong.

Mr. Fields stood up and walked to his window, staring out into the playground. "On any other occasion," he said, "breaking and entering into school grounds by itself would be grounds for expulsion, not to mention gluing all of the toilet seats in the girls' bathrooms."

Mark grinned. Good stuff, that was. Couldn't sit if the seat was superglued to the upright position. Plus, gluing them up was much easier than trying to steal them.

"Well, I didn't steal anything," Mark said. "All I did was add something to the school. No crime against that."

Mr. Fields tightened his jaw but continued as if he hadn't heard. "But as it is, you've lucked out today." He turned back around and faced Mark. "Someone has graciously agreed to pay for all of the damages done, and even donate a little to the school." Mr. Fields breathed out. "So, as it stands currently, you are not going to be expelled."

Mark couldn't help but grin, although he had already guessed that he wasn't getting kicked out, seeing how his parents weren't there in the office with him. Heck, his parents hadn't even been contacted about this situation, although Mark wasn't really sure why.

Mr. Fields reached into his desk and brought out an envelope. "The person who paid for the damages also asked me to give you this." He handed it over, and Mark took the envelope, curious now. "At any rate," Mr. Fields said, "I want you out of my office, and I don't want you to talk about this stupid prank of yours to anyone."

Mark nodded and quickly headed out, but his thoughts weren't on his "stupid prank" at all. They were on the one word that was written on the outside of the mysterious envelope. 

Synesthesia.

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Mark sat on his bed at home, the envelope opened and the letter that was in it held in his hands. He wasn't sure how much of it to believe, but if just a fraction of it were true, then he had to at least check it out, right?

Mark, the letter read,

My name is Solomon Harrison. I am a professor here at the University of California--Irvine. I, like you, have Synesthesia. I am the head of a unique scientific group located here in California, and was wondering if you would be open for an opportunity of a lifetime.

You see, my research team and I have been working on breakthrough achievements in exploring the senses-and not just the normal five that most people know about. And, no, I'm not talking about seeing dead people, either. I'm talking about the ability to perceive and grasp information and sensations out there that no one has as of yet been able to perceive or grasp. I'm talking about senses no one even has a name for yet.

You might be wondering why you of all people are receiving this letter, or what any of this research has to do with you. You see, years ago my team and I discovered that people with synesthesia were the key. They, and I, already had the ability to notice things that others didn't. Numbers "gave off" certain colors. Certain letters of the alphabet were different textures. Even the tone and pitch of people's voices evoked some other sense that had nothing to do with sound.

This was our first step to understanding that maybe these people with synesthesia weren't just noticing something different with the same senses as we are used to, but actually experiencing completely different senses altogether? How can a blind man describe sight? How can a deaf man describe sound? How can we, with our limited sense, describe something we've never experienced before? By using the senses we know about to try to express it, even if it's a half-baked job.

I have a method that opens up more senses in people. It has had remarkable success. Things that we have no modern way to explain are being manifested. Although I personally dislike the term, many of my colleagues have referred to them as "superpowers." One lady that has done it now can instantly perceive if someone is lying or telling the truth, or anything on the spectrum between the two. One man that has gone through the process can completely accurately describe the measurements and ingredients of any piece of food he tastes. 

You do not have to go through my method of unlocking the senses if you do not wish to, but I would like to meet with you in person and talk. Your many, um, exploits have brought you to my attention. Bravery, foolishness, call it what you wish, the fact is that you exhibit the very fortitude that my team and I are looking for in people with synesthesia, and I do look forward to meeting you in person.

--Solomon Harrison

Below the signature was a phone number and an email address.

Downstairs, Mark could hear his mom calling the family down for dinner. Mark mulled it over for a bit, then thought, Why not? and picked up his phone.

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Mark walked down one of the sidewalks of the University of California--Irvine. He had looked up the University and Professor Harrison before calling. Apparently the University was #36 in the Nation, and Professor Harrison was a very highly rated professor. One phone call later, and Mark had an appointment set up to see what Solomon was doing in his little lab of his.

Mark checked the map on his phone again and headed off towards the science building where his meeting was. Professor Harrison seemed like a pretty rad dude on the phone. After their phone call Mark had told his parents he was meeting with a friend the next day after school. Instead, he had driven about an hour south to the University campus. 

There were still a few students milling about who had later classes, and Mark had to ask directions from one of them before he found the right lab. When he got there he knocked, and a man opened the door. He looked about 40, was clean shaven, and was wearing a suit and tie. From the pictures Mark had looked up online, he knew that it was Professor Harrison.

"Mark! Welcome!" Professor Harrison said. "Come on in. You find us alright?"

"Hi," said Mark, as he entered. "I had a bit of trouble, but I got it figured out." He looked around the lab and saw three other people there. One of them, a spunky young lady, came up to him. "You're Mark, huh? I'm Lisa. Nice to meet you." They shook hands.

Lisa cocked her head to the side. "So, you're a trouble-maker, huh? Is your anger against the world and the establishment because of your fear and your need for control? You're grandma's about to die in the hospital, your other three grandparents have already passed away, and you still have psychological scars from when your younger sister Stephanie almost drowned in the pool four years ago. Is that why you lash out so much?"

Mark's jaw dropped. "How--? Who--? Did you look me up?" But that doesn't make sense, even if she looked me up she wouldn't know all of that about me. Heck, I didn't even know all of that about me.

"Lisa!" said Professor Harrison sternly. "He just got here. Could you give him a little break?"

Lisa smiled and skipped off to the other two students at the lab table. "You'll have to forgive Lisa," said Professor Harrison, "She just likes showing off in front of those she can."

"So," said Mark, still in a little bit of shock, "Is she one of the ones that went through the process thing? To increase her synesthesia or whatever?"

Professor Harrison laughed and slapped Mark in the back. "Good guess Mark! Yes, Lisa has gone through the synesthesia-increasing process. She can sense in great detail underlying reasons why parts of a person's character is the way it is."

"But how? What exactly does she sense? What are some other superpowers that others have gotten? Do I have the chance to get one too?"

Professor Harrison flinched. "I don't really like the word superpower," he said. "It sounds too science-fiction. I prefer the term sense, because that's really all it is. Here, come into my office and I can explain more."

They went to a door on the side of the lab and sat down, Professor Harrison behind his desk and Mark in one of the other chairs. "I briefly explained it in my letter, but let's talk greater in detail about exactly what we're doing here. First of all, we have to talk about senses." He reached behind him and brought out a chart, placing it on the desk. "The five main senses everyone knows about are sight, hearing, touch, taste, and smell. But we know that other senses exist." He paused. "Mark, what do you think a blind person sees?"

"Sees? Um, just black, I guess. Maybe white? I've never really thought about it before."

Professor Harrison nodded. "Most people think that. But the truth is, blind people don't see black. They see nothing."

"Nothing?"

Professor Harrison smiled. "Yes, nothing. They have no sense of sight. If you were to try to describe to them what black looked like, how would you do it? Or, for that matter, how could you explain to a deaf person what sound is? Or someone who couldn't taste what salty or sour was?"

Mark thought about it. "I guess... I guess you really couldn't. You would try to describe the sensation in terms of other senses they know about, but it couldn't quite do it justice. It just wouldn't be the same."

Professor Harrison nodded. "Yes. Which is why blind people don't see black, they see nothing. Years ago, a scientist by the name of Kirschvink did an experiment with human's ability to sense which way north is. We know that birds and fish have this sense built into them: they inherently know, at all times, which way north is. So scientists developed a belt, they called it the vibro belt or something, but anyway the point is is that it would vibrate on whichever side was facing north. They tested it on blind people, and they loved it. Made navigation a lot easier. But what do you think they felt when they took the belt off?"

"Um... nothing? Like, they weren't wearing the belt so they didn't feel any vibrating, right?"

"Exactly. It wasn't that they were feeling north in a certain direction when they took the belt off, it's just that they weren't feeling which way north was at all. This is kind of a crude example because it uses the sense of feeling to simulate the sense of which way north was, but it's also a good example because it's exactly what you said earlier-one sense being used to try to explain a different sense that we don't have."

"I've got you," said Mark. "So you're saying that that's what synesthesia is?"

"Yes," Professor Harrison said, getting out a small book. "So I wanted to test your synesthesia, if that's okay."

"Yeah, sure," Mark said. "But, I mean, mine isn't anything special. It's just your normal run-of-the-mill numbers as colors synesthesia."

Professor Harrison flipped to a page in the book. "Yes, but don't call it normal. It's anything but. Okay, what color does this number give off?"

Mark looked down at the number 4. "Fours look kind of like a greenish brown to me."

Professor Harrison took a note. "Excellent. And this one?"

Professor Harrison and Mark continued, Mark looking at numbers and explaining what color he associated it with, and Professor Harrison taking notes on the answers. They then moved on to letters, words, songs, textures, smells, tastes, and colors.

Once they were done, Mark couldn't take it any longer. "So, do I pass? Can I get one of those super senses you were talking about?"

Professor Harrison laughed. "Is this because of what Lisa said? I've never seen anyone so eager. You don't even know how it works!"

"Well, it's not dangerous, is it?"

"No, on the contrary, it's very safe. But I have to take these notes and consult with the others to determine the exact formula that we think will work. If you are interested, however, there are some disclaimers to sign. And we'll need to see you back in two days. Does that work?"

"Boy does it ever."

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Mark sat in a chair, breathing in and out, deeply, rhythmically. He had just gotten the shot, and was ready for anything: for sound waves to be visible, for food to start talking to him, for tastes to correspond to the next stock market exchange.

He opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. Mark frowned. "Hey, I thought you said this would work."

Professor Harrison laughed, while his partner Professor Greenstine just rolled his eyes. "It takes a day or two before you'll begin to feel any symptoms," Professor Greenstine said. "But don't get your hopes up. I know my science partner might have filled your head with ideas of having super abilities, but more likely you'll just get something small and useless."

"Come now, Jacob," said Professor Harrison, "You just say that because you don't fully appreciate your new sense."

Professor Greenstine rolled his eyes again and walked back to the counter.

"I didn't know he had a sense too," said Mark. "What is it? And I think you mentioned you had one, right? Can you tell me about what some of them are?"

"Certainly," Professor Harrison said. "Here, let me walk you out." The two exited the small doctor's office that was a part of the lab and walked out toward the door.

Professor Harrison pointed at some of the students that were working in the lab. "That's Marco. His new sense is that he associates different colors with certain, uh, what did you call it Marco?"

"Melodies," Marcos called out.

"Yes, that's right, Melodies. You've already met Lisa. That there is Rachel. She used to be like you, numbers to colors type synesthesia, but it's been increased ten fold. She can now do incredibly complex math in her head in a manner of seconds. High Kinesthetic synesthesia, is what that's called."

They reached the door and exited out into the hallway. A few students and a janitor were milling about. The janitor quickly acted like he was busy, and skidded off down the hallway.

"Samuel can sense physically what physically happens to someone else, and is even able to tell how hungry or tired they are just by looking at them because he feels it as well. Natalie associates sounds with emotions and vice versa, and Olivia knows the exact location on the planet of every person she's seen, kind of like a tracking device."

They reached the doors and then headed outside. "What about you and Professor Greenstine? Which senses did you gain?"

Professor Harrison grinned. "Mine is kind of hard to explain to others--ha! I guess all our senses are like that, aren't they? But on a basic explanation level, I can sense exactly how trustworthy a person is."

Mark raised his eyebrow. "And you sense that I'm trustworthy?"

"To me, yes. To your principal and school teachers, no. To your family, yes. It's kind of hard to explain what I sense; I guess the term 'feel something' is close."

"And Professor Greenstine?"

"He's very trustworthy."

"No, I mean, what's his sense?"

"Oh. Right." Professor Harrison smiled. "He has acute Lexical-gustatory synesthesia. That's the technical scientific name for it. In other words, certain words, when he hears them, also have a taste. So, for example, the word 'knapsack' to him tastes like grass, and 'holiday' tastes like salty peanuts."

"Woah. I hope whatever sense I develop will be cooler than that."

"There are some cool ones out there. I've only mentioned a few. For instance, Nathan, who's out on vacation right now, can sense when he or those nearby are in any sort of danger."

"Yeah, and what about that one who can tell the exact components of a food just by eating a piece of it?"

"Oh. Yeah." Professor Harrison's smile faded. "Listen," he said, and stopped walking. "We need to tell you this sooner or later, and so now is just a good a time as ever." He paused, mulling over the words he was going to say. "There are... people out there... who... disagree with unlocking extreme synesthesia. They think that it makes people too powerful, too dangerous." His face turned angry. "That's the main reason why I dislike the term superpower. In reality it's just unlocking senses that we're not really sure what they are, much like a blind person cannot comprehend the idea of sight."

Professor Harrison turned to Mark. "The man you're talking about, Fletcher, with the taste synesthesia, he left our lab and joined them."

Mark whistled. "So there's a top secret organization that secretly fights you guys? That's epic."

"What? No, there's no top secret organization. Once again, science fiction. It's one of the local gangs, the Lopers gang. Fletcher joined up with them, and now we think that the whole gang could be after us." Professor Harrison shrugged. "Or, you know, not. It's just a precaution I wanted you to be aware of."

They reached Mark's car, and Mark hopped in. "I'll let you know as soon as I start to sense any weird business."

"Great. Just give me a call, you have my cell. And remember, at first you might not know exactly what it means or corresponds to. It took me months to figure out that my sense was telling me about the trustworthiness of people. Keep in touch. It should start in the next few days."

"Will do. Thanks!" Mark shut the car door and turned the key. His thoughts were so focused on what cool new power he would get that the information on the Lopers slipped wholly from his mind.

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The next day, nothing had changed. Mark tried eating foods with vastly different tastes. Nothing. He tried listening to different types of music. Nothing. He even went with his family to church for once to see if gospel-related stuff had any sort of effect. Nope.

When they got home from church, Mark collapsed into the couch in their livingroom. "What is it, Mark? You seem down," his mom said, coming into the room.

"Me? Oh, it's nothing. Just a lot of school work I need to catch up on."

"Wow, caring about school work? Something really has gotten into you." His mom smiled. "And coming to church with us for once? I don't know what's gotten into you, but I like the changes you're making."

His dad called out from the kitchen. "He could do the dishes every once and again too, you know!"

Mark groaned and fell back. "I'm fine, mom. I just have a lot on my plate right now."

"Well, if you ever need help or anything, your father and I are here to help you." His mom left the room.

Mark hadn't told them about Professor Harrison, about developing his synesthesia, any of it. They still thought he was going to hang out at a friend's house whenever he drove down to Irvine and back.

"We're going to visit grandma later today," his dad said, coming into the room. "The doctors say she's doing worse. It might not be that much time before she passes."

"Okay, sounds good dad, thanks."

His dad left the room, and Mark wondered. Is what Lisa said true? Could his rebelliousness be him seeking for control in a life that was unfair and cruel? Is that why he was so willing to take risks, to be willing to be expelled from high school on a stupid prank? Is that why he signed up for this super-synesthesia experiment? For power? Mark groaned. He didn't know any more. Right now he just wanted to go to sleep. But he had lunch to eat and his grandma to visit, so he got up off the couch and faced the rest of the day.

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At school the next day, Mark was still trying to sense a new sense. Let's see, he thought. If I were blind, what would sight even be like to me? If I were deaf, how could I comprehend sound? How am I supposed to feel a new sense that no one has even known about before? Would I even be able to explain it?

He sat in his English classroom, near the back as always, and zoned out as the teacher was talking about en media res and its inclusion in literature.

This class is so boring. How am I ever even going to use this stuff in my life? Pointless. Nineteen years.

Mark jolted upright in his chair. What the heck was that?

He turned himself and looked across the classroom. Every person was doing the exact same thing.

They were giving off a time.

Mark didn't really know how to explain it. It wasn't like he was seeing it, or hearing it, or reading it, or feeling it, or anything else that could really be explained by using the normal five senses. He just knew somehow a time associated with every person. Fifty-one years. Sixty years. Twelve years. 

Mark quickly got out his phone and sent a quick text to Professor Harrison. It looked like Mark was going to skip the rest of his school classes that day.

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"Fascinating," Professor Harrison said. He looked back down at his notebook. "Do you have any guesses as to what these times could mean?"

Mark shook his head. "No idea. About four months on that guy in the green shirt," he said, pointing to another student walking across campus. Professor Harrison took another note.

They had already determined that the time on both Professor Harrison and himself was one day, but for the life of him Mark couldn't understand what it meant. It didn't seem like any sort of timer, because the times never changed, but then again the time frames he sensed were so big that if it was counting up to anything or down to anything Mark supposed he wouldn't be able to tell.

After taking notes on the times on a variety of student and faculty populus in the general campus, which ranged from one day to eighty-seven years, Mark and Professor Harrison headed back to the lab.

"I'm going to make a copy of these notes for you," Professor Harrison said. "I want you to continue taking notes at home, with everybody that you sense. The thing about data is that once you start having enough of it, a pattern will begin to emerge. I think I told you earlier, but it took me almost a year before I figured out what my sense corresponded to."

They entered back into the building. The janitor (sixteen years) quickly grabbed a bottle of cleaning spray and darted into the nearest bathroom. Two students (two days and one day) came up to them. "Hi Professor Harrison!" one of them said.

"Hi Terry! Hi Oscar! I've told you about Mark, haven't I?"

"Nice to meet you," said Mark, shaking hands. "What can you guys sense?"

"To me, everyone has a specific color around them, an aura," said Terry.

"Cool. To me everyone has a time on them."

"What does the time mean?"

"No idea yet. What does the color mean?"

Terry laughed. "No idea yet. Well, that's not true. I think it might have to do with their personalities, like the Myers and Briggs test, but I think it corresponds to a personality test that doesn't exist yet."

Oscar smiled. "When I read something, the letters and words appear in different colors depending on how the writer was feeling at the time that they wrote them." He shrugged. "No idea how the crap I do it, it seems pretty magic to me. I can tell what words started with a typo, what sentences and words were added in later drafts, that kind of thing."

"That's pretty legit," Mark said.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool. Anyway, we'll see you tomorrow, Professor Harrison!" The two students took off down the hall.

Professor Harrison and Mark entered the lab. "That does sound like magic to me," Mark said. "How on earth does that even work?"

Professor Harrison shrugged. "There's a lot we don't know about synesthesia. That's why I feel this research is so important. And others feel so as well, that's how this project was able to get so much grant money." Professor Harrison paused. "Mark, what are your plans for after high school?"

Mark sat down on top of a table. "I don't know, man. I don't even really have a job right now. I--I hadn't really thought about it much." I don't like thinking about the future. It's too painful. My grandma's about to die any day now. I have bad grades, no job, no girlfriend, no prospects...

Professor Harrison nodded. "Well, if you would be interested, there is a scholarship that my team and I would be able to offer you if you wanted to come and study here."

Mark looked up at him. "You mean, like, here at the University?" 

"Yes. Of course, I'd want you constantly involved in our continuing synesthesia research, figuring that you--"

"I'd love that!" Mark blurted out. "Oh, sorry," he said, a bit quieter. "I mean, that'd be awesome! And I'm totally into this whole hyper-synesthesia stuff too. And you guys here at the lab could help me figure out what this whole time thing means, and I can help you figure out yours, and..." he trailed off. "Sorry, I'm just rambling now."

Professor Harrison laughed. "I like your enthusiasm kid! I'll talk to Jacob more about it, but we should have enough in our scholarship fund to cover at least your tuition."

"That'd be amazing, sir. Thank you so much."

"No problem. Just try and figure out what your sense means is all I ask."

He made Mark a copy of his notes, and Mark practically skipped out to his car. He had a future! No more worrying about what on earth he was going to do with his life. He could go to an awesome university, get a great education, maybe change his life around for the better. No more skipping school, getting into fights, or pulling pranks.

Mark felt like nothing could ruin his mood. That is, until his mom called from the hospital.

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Mark's grandmother was lying down on the bed, hooked up to all sorts of machines and contraptions when Mark entered the room. His mom immediately stood up and hugged him. The lights in the room were dimmed, presumably to allow the patient to sleep. No one was talking, and as Mark moved past his brother and sister to get closer to the bed, he knew that something was very wrong.

"Glad you could make it here," his dad whispered to him. "She's nearing the end now." His dad sat near the bed, holding onto the right hand of Mark's grandma. 

She was sleeping, and Mark crouched down next to his dad. "She looks so peaceful," Mark said. 

His dad smiled. "She's sleeping. At least she'll go out of this world peacefully, without pain. She'll be with her husband soon."

Mark could tell his dad had been crying. Mark squeezed his dad's shoulder and moved back to near the back of the room. "How are you holding up mom?" he asked. 

His mom was holding a wet hankie. "I'm doing okay, thanks for asking, sweetie. We knew this day was coming for a long time now."

Mark nodded and sat down next to his little sister. She put her head in his lap and he absent-mindedly played with her hair, thinking of his grandma and all the fun things they had done together. And now it was all coming to an end. Mark felt tears coming to his eyes, and he closed them. It had been a long day. First, fantastic news, then, terrible news. Mark felt overwhelmed with everything. He just wanted to relax, to not have to think. He found himself slowly nodding off.

It was hours later when his mom woke him. "Wake up, sweetie. It's happening."

Mark sat upright, rubbing his eyes. He could tell it was late in the night, as the window was open and star and moonlight shone down from above. In the room was a doctor and nurse, quietly talking to Mark's father. 

Mark's grandmother was having a hard time. Her breathing was labored, and her pulse on the machine was irregular. Mark's mom was holding his sister, who was quietly crying.

"It's okay, sweetie," she said. "She'll be in a better place soon. Everything will be alright. Right now it's just a matter of time."

Time.

Mark felt a chill creep up his spine. Slowly, he turned back to his grandma. And sensed her time. 

Forty-two seconds.

Mark felt goosebumps all over his body. No... it can't be...

For the first time, Mark felt the time surrounding a person change.

Forty-one seconds. Forty seconds.

They were counting down. Mark had a guess what they were counting down to.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

"I love you, grandma," he said. He looked over at the heart rate monitor. He could be wrong. He sensed all of his family, his mom, dad, younger brother, and younger sister. The doctor, the nurse. He sensed years and years with them. He looked back over at his grandma. Three seconds. Two seconds. One second.

Mark sensed no more time just as the heart rate monitor showed an absence of a pulse. She was gone.

Mark's dad buried his face in the sheets and began crying. Mark felt his mom brush by to run and go comfort him, but Mark barely felt it. Everything just felt so surreal. His brother and sister were probably crying as well, but Mark didn't hear it. He turned and bolted out of the room. He heard someone yell out his name behind him, but he didn't slow down or turn. He ran out of the hallway, out of the hospital, out of it all. 

He collapsed into the front seat of his car. His grandmother was dead. Not only that, but the time he was sensing in people seemed to be some sort of countdown after all. Mark breathed heavily, and he started sweating. It couldn't be true, could it?

Mark sensed himself again. The time he sensed wasn't a day any more. Now it was twenty-three hours.

He sat bolt upright. There had to be a way to test it, right? He hopped out of his car and shut and locked it behind him. He had one idea, but he wasn't sure it would work. He rushed back over to the hospital and spied an outdoor garbage can. Perfect.

He knelt down beside it and found exactly what he was looking for. A stream of ants, making a little path from the garbage to wherever it was they called home. He tried to sense a time with them. Nothing. 

Defeated, he slumped down on the ground. How else was he going to test this? Maybe he just needed to try harder. He leaned over the ants again, focusing. Nothing. Nothing. Something. 

Nine years. Three years. Eight years. Mark blinked. He wasn't sure he knew that ants could even live that long. He picked one out, and made it his goal to squish it. Then, he sensed it. Four seconds. Three seconds. Two seconds. One second. Mark crushed it under his knuckle. 

Mark stood up and began pacing. So, as of right now his hypothesis was correct, and the time he was sensing was how much longer a person had to live. That wasn't a very pretty picture, seeing that he himself had only twenty-three hours left in his lifespan. But could it be changed? Time for another experiment. 

He knelt down again, heart racing, and picked out another ant to crush. He sensed it. Four seconds. Three seconds. Two seconds. "I'm not going to do it," Mark said out loud. He moved his hand back down to his side.

And the time of the ant changed.

Four years.

Mark's heart leaped up in his chest. It could be changed! The knowledge itself, if applied to what you do in the future, could change how much time you had left.

Just to be sure, Mark tried it four more times, all with the same result.

Mark hurriedly stood up and briskly walked back to his car. So it was possible that he could live longer than just one day if he used that knowledge to change his future course. 

When he got to his car he hopped in and grabbed his phone. He hit the speed dial and waited breathlessly for the person on the other end to answer. Ringing... ringing...

"Hello?" a groggy voice said on the other end of the line. Professor Harrison's voice.

"Professor! It's Mark! Listen, I--"

"Mark? What on earth are you calling me at one in the morning for? If you figured out your sense, I'm excited for you and all, but I think a better time wo--"

"We're going to die in less than 24 hours."

Silence on the other end of the line. Mark himself suddenly felt sick when he said it. As if it had never really sunk in before.

"What are you talking about?" Professor Harrison said. 

So Mark began explaining. He explained how with less time, the number didn't stay stagnant, it started counting down. He explained what he had sensed and what had happened with his grandmother. During that part Mark had to shove down a wave of grief that threatened to overwhelm him. He could grieve later. If he ever made it out of this alive. Mark explained how he had experimented, and figured out that the time could change based off of someone acting with the knowledge of how much time was left.

"So, because I know my time and your time, and I'm guessing the time of all of your other students, because they were all about the same time, one day, I think that we can actually change our fate." Mark was breathing heavily by the end.

By this time, Mark could tell that Professor Harrison was wide awake, and from the sound of it, was pacing back and forth on the other end of the phone. "But who would want to kill us? Sorry, that's a stupid question, obviously it's the Lopers gang, but how on earth could they have accessed the information of who works with me that have synesthesia? I've been looking over my notes--" Mark could hear papers being shuffled around on the other end of the line-- "And those who have synesthesia and have gone through the method are the only ones who you said you sensed a day on. All of my other students have what seem to be normal lifespan numbers. Except for James. Of course, he is a drug addict. Anyway, sorry, but this doesn't make sense."

"I'm not sure, Professor," Mark said. "As far as I can remember, everyone in your lab building had the same time on them." Mark paused. Wait, that wasn't true, there was-- "Hold on, Professor." Mark put the phone on speaker and placed it in the seat next to him. There was one person in that building who hadn't had a small time-frame they gave off. It was--

"The janitor," Mark said, picking the phone back up. "The janitor. I've seen him twice. Once on my first day there, and then again early today. Or yesterday. Or whatever. The point is, both times I saw him I was with you, and I saw him running away from us. I thought it was just because he didn't want to look like he wasn't working, but it was probably because--"

"He didn't want me to sense that he was an untrustworthy person," Professor Harrison finished. "Of course. He knew if I would have sensed him, I would have wondered why a person that's so untrustworthy to me would have been working in my building." Mark heard Professor Harrison swear. "Mark, if what you say is true, and I have absolutely no reason to doubt it, then all of us with hyper-synesthesia senses are in grave danger."

"Yes," Mark said, "But we can change that! By knowing how much time we have left we can alter our course to avoid it. I've experimented on it. I've done it. We just need to do different things in our future that we would not have done without this knowledge."

"I agree. The Lopers gang may be vicious, but they don't know that we know. I'll warn the other members of my team. You--how much time do you sense in yourself?"

Mark sensed. "Twenty-two hours now."

"Okay. I'm guessing that the rest of us have about the same amount of time then. Man, I have a lot to do. Do you think you can stay safe?"

"Yes, Professor. I already have a plan."

"Good. Text me every hour on the hour and let me know if you sense any changes in yourself. And--" there was a pause. "Thank you, Mark."

"Don't thank me yet. Let's survive the next twenty-four hours first."

---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---

Mark didn't have to go to school the next day, with his grandma dying and everything. Instead, he stayed at home with his family and accepted condolences from people that stopped by. With all the strangers stopping by (strangers to Mark at least) with sympathetic faces and consoling words, more than once Mark wondered who was a traitor in disguise, and had wished for Professor Harrison's ability to sense trustworthiness.

Of course, if I didn't have my sense we would all unknowingly be walking right into our dark fates.

The day dragged on, and Mark found himself constantly checking how much time he had left. He tried to take a nap, to give himself energy for that night, but, of course, no sleep would come. So he spent most of his time mulling over the plan he had concocted again and again.

A week ago Mark had broken into the school with a tub of superglue and a mission for mayhem. Mr. Fields had never asked him how he had broken in, and even he had, Mark had had a back up of a back up. And one of those back up school master keys happened to be in Mark's pocket.

Mark fiddled around with it nervously, eyeing the clock. When it reached a late enough hour, he announced to his family that he was going to go to bed early. He sensed the rest of his family to make sure they were safe, and sure enough, each one of them still had decades. He headed up to his room, gave Professor Harrison a quick update text, and then waited breathlessly. An hour passed. 

He sensed the time he gave off again. It still registered as another hour less.

So far, his time hadn't gone up at all. It was time to change that. Mark stuffed blankets underneath his bedsheets to make it look like he was under them sleeping. Then he donned a completely black outfit, ski mask included. He glanced around the room to make sure that everything looked alright, and then double-checked to make sure he still had the school's master key. He shut off the lights, and then, as quietly as a ninja, slipped out of his bedroom window.

He slid across the roof and then carefully jumped down, hitting the ground and rolling to absorb some of the momentum. He had had practice doing this. Many many times. He slid behind a large bush in the yard, then waited until the cost was clear. He quickly and stealthily slipped out of the yard and across the street, always keeping to the deepest shadows. Who knew that all those nights of sneaking out would one day save his life?

As he rested in the shadows though, he thought about that. No more sneaking out after this, he promised. If I do survive this night, those days are over. I have hope now. I have something to strive for.

About twenty minutes later he was nearing the high school. He constantly checked to see if anyone had seen him or was following him. So far, so good. If he had done this right, then the members of the Lopers gang were still watching his house. And judging from time it was, he still had about two hours before his time ran out. He sensed himself again, hoping that his time had gone up.

Five minutes.

Mark nearly wet his pants. Five minutes!? No, that can't be right! He sensed again. It was the same. 

Fear had never gripped him so hard. Apparently, time could be lessened as well as lengthened by acting upon the knowledge of it. He stood, frozen, across the street from the school. What had happened? Apparently, the Lopers had seen him sneak out. They had seen him move his way across town. And it caused them to up their game plan. And now, Mark was in their grip.

Mark fought down pure panic. There must still be a chance. As long as he kept on sensing when his own demise would be, he could use that to constantly change it. Hopefully thwart it and get himself out of this mess. A half-formed idea formed in his head, and Mark knew what his only hope was. He took a deep breath, and sprinted towards the school.

He made it to the outer fence safely, but he was now down to three minutes. He used his key to open the fence, then slipped in and locked it behind him. He ran to the school doors and unlocked those as well, then went in and typed in the correct code into the alarm system to arm the alarms. Then he used his key to open a nearby classroom and ducked inside. He made a quick phone call.

Mark still had the element of surprise on his side. The Lopers still didn't know that he knew. For all the Lopers knew, he was breaking in here just to pull another prank. Mark turned on the classroom light and then quickly went to another classroom and turned the lights on in there, too. Then he crouched down and huridly made his way down the hall to the cafeteria area. With any luck, the decoy classrooms should slow them down enough.

Mark sensed his time again. It had stabilized at about two minutes. Figuring he had spent a few inside messing with things, it meant his plan was working and he was gaining time back. He just hoped he had enough time. Speaking of which, why weren't the alarms going off?

This thought was accentuated by the sounds of broken glass as windows down in the classrooms were broken in. Mark looked around in panic. What was happening? Why... then he noticed that the clocks on the microwaves weren't working. Or the emergency exit lights. Or anything that used electricity.

They cut the power, Mark realized, as angry shouts echoed down the hall.

He ducked down beneath the counter and sensed again. How much time did he have? He sensed about a minute. Great.

Mark quickly took a look around the darkened room. He could only see because of the moonlight coming in through the window. He crept past the serving trays and cash registers over to the window and sensed again. Three minutes. Good, so this was a good idea.

He silently got up on the counter and undid the latch on the window, then opened it and hopped out.

Five seconds.

Crap.

He hastily got back inside and swiftly shut and locked the window behind him, then leaped down from the counter and bolted towards the door. He heard the window shatter behind him as a member of the Lopers came crashing through after him. Of course they were watching the outside of the building, idiot, Mark thought to himself. He crashed through the doors into the empty cafeteria and slid over against the wall. The man followed through a few seconds later, pointing his gun in front of him with a laser beam shining out from it.

Mark sensed again and felt that he had about sixteen seconds. As the man passed the spot where he was hiding, Mark swiftly went backwards, back into the kitchen, before the door closed shut. He slipped passed it and the door closed behind him, and then quickly ran back to the now broken and open window. 

Mark figured that if the Lopers has posted people outside the school, and the man covering this area had left it to go looking around the cafeteria, then the cost should be clear for this area now. Mark hopped up on the counter and through the window, trying to not make too much noise on the broken shards of glass littering the floor.

He crouched down in the shadows on the outside, his heart pounding. He sensed that he had about a minute and a half. Sweet, he thought, that's the most time I've had all night.

He carefully skirted around the outside of the building. He had to get out of there if he wanted to live to see tomorrow. Going outside seemed to be a good idea. They thought he was in the building, but if he could get away from it... he spotted a large tall bush, and got ready to make a break for it.

He bolted out from the side of the building, headed straight for the bush. He sensed himself again. Three seconds. Crap. Two seconds. It was too far away. One second. Mark quickly threw himself to the ground. At that exact same instant, he heard a gunshot echo behind him. He felt the bullet graze just over his shoulder blade. Mark hit the ground and rolled to the side, then jumped up and dashed the rest of the way to the bush.

Whoever had shot at him was apparently too shocked to see how Mark was still alive to react fast enough. It gave Mark enough time to run along the length of the bush, away from the shooter. He sensed his own time again, and so knew exactly when to drop to the ground when the shooter began firing into the bush. How long ago did I make that phone call? Mark was running out of time in more ways than one. Soon he wouldn't be able to use his dodge-out-of-the-way-when-he-had-one-second-left strategy.

The man who had been shooting at him was now yelling for backup. Mark could sense exactly where he was, due to the time of six months he was giving out, and briefly considered tackling him. He decided against it, though. Trying to tackle a well-established gang member wasn't the smartest idea he'd ever had.

Instead, Mark used his knowledge of where the man was to sneak around to the opposite side of the bush when he came around. It was still dark out, and with the power being shut off, no lights were coming from any of the many overhead street lights or school. It was dark enough that Mark couldn't see the man, and he was pretty sure the man couldn't see him either. 

Mark heard others shouting and running toward their location though. And when he sensed his own time, he was still down to seconds. There was nowhere to run. There was nowhere to hide.

Suddenly, a bright beam of light shone down into the school yard. "This is the police! Freeze!" roared a voice. 

Mark looked up. The light was coming from a helicopter overhead. Around him, he could hear police officers open their car doors and jump out, leveling their guns. It’s about time they get here. Takes them long enough to respond to a simple phone call.

"Get on the ground! Hands above your head!" police officers shouted.

In any other circumstance, Mark would have. But right when he was about to, two thoughts came into his mind simultaneously: I sense someone right behind me. And I still only have two seconds left to live.

Instead of knelling down on the ground, Mark swung around and jumped into the air. His right foot came flying up, and connected perfectly with the gun that was leveled at his head. The shot rung out, went wild, and the gun flew out of the gang member's hand. Mark fell on his back, the wind knocked out of him, as he saw the man stick his hands up in the air. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" he yelled.

Mark sensed the man's time. Twenty-nine years.

"Don't worry," said Mark, also lifting his hands high above his head. "They won't."

---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---

The next few days were a blur for him. After being brought to the police station and then later released from custody to his worried parents, he then had to give testimonials. He couldn't tell anyone the truth, of course, so instead he made up some excuse about breaking into the school to pull another prank. You know, believable stuff.

Professor Harrison and all of the others were safe. He had gotten the message out in time, and because of the warning from Mark's premonition, they were able to avoid their fates.

The next time Mark saw Professor Harrison again was almost a month later.

"Long time no see!" Professor Harrison said to Mark as he entered the lab.

"Yeah, tell me about it. A month's suspension and house arrest is tough. Even for me."

"Mark? Hey everyone, Mark's here!" Lisa shouted, and her and the other students in the lab crowded around. "You saved our lives, bro!" "Thanks, man!" "The cops busted the gang members that tried to get me." "Without you, I would have been toast! They broke into my shop!"

After the Thank Yous and You're Welcomes were done, Professor Harrison called Mark into his office. Once Mark sat down, Professor Harrison shut the door behind them. "How you felling, bud?"

Mark weakly smiled. "Well, I'm at sixty-five years, so that's good. I have to go to court to testify soon, but I think that everyone else in here has to do that too. The suspension was a bummer."

"Yeah, sorry I wasn't able to get you out of that one this time. The police were involved."

Mark paused. "What do you mean, this time?"

Professor Harrison froze. "Uh..."

"What did you do?"

"So, remember when you glued the toilet seats up?"

"Yeah, I do."

"And remember how I paid for all the damage done?"

"Yeah, I do. But I'm still not sure how that made my principal not expel me."

Professor Harrison smiled. "Let me guess, your parents never found out about that prank, did they?"

"No, they didn't. How did you know?"

"Because I paid off Mr. Fields."

There was silence.

"You did, what now?"

"I gave him a little bribe. Just between him and me. Enough to keep his mouth shut, keep you out of trouble, and as insurance to make sure that you got my letter."

Mark sat back. "I didn't know principals can be so easily bribed."

"Well, not all principals. But remember, I can tell who is trustworthy and to who. I know my way around bribery."

"Well, however much you paid him, it worked. I applied for that scholarship, by the way. And applied for the University."

"Excellent. We still have much research to do with synesthesia, and could really use your help."

"I look forward to it." Mark smiled. He had a future now, and opportunity. He had the rest of his life to learn and grow. The rest of his life.

Mark grinned. All sixty-five years of it.

 

Holy crap. I can't believe I actually wrote out that whole thing. That's crazy. (For the record, it took me three days to write it all out.) Maybe I should write like that more often. Just sit down and start writing. Not sure if that story was any good, but it's an idea I had bouncing around my head ever since Eric made a blog post about how he has synesthesia and assosciates certain numbers with colors.