Two Ships by Patrick Boutwell

         Owen had been sent to the family specialist because of "odd tantrums and outrageous pandemonium," as the principal would say.
         It was the third time that week that this had happened. Owen would be in math class, the teacher would be talking, and, like an explosion, Owen would start to yell at what would appear to be nothing. "Stop!  No!!! This can't be happening!!"  He then would sit down and behave like he'd seen a ghost.
         "Disruptive behavior is a very serious matter," the principal would assert.
         "Maybe some medication will help," blabbed the school nurse.
         But no one could ever understand what was causing the behavior spasms...until the third day.
         Owen sat in the waiting room,  painfully attempting not to lose himself in fantasy. He knew that it would ease his mind to think of one, but he feared one might merge into something worse, if that was possible.
        "RED SECTOR B, PREPARE FOR EXTERNAL DEPARTURE IN THREE QUARTERS OF AN HOUR."
        "Did you hear that, Owen? It's almost time to go."
        "Already?"
        "Yes. Really, I would think that you of all people on this planet would be excited about today. Besides, you don't seem ever to go outside. It would be good for you to see your friends once in a while."
        "But all the friends I need are in this house. Why make more?"
        "Oh, Owen. You really know how to brghten up a day. So, are you going to come or not?"
        "Oh, I am. It's just that I'm almost done with my experiment, and I want to--"
        "NO!!!!" Owen screamed, slamming his hands into his head. The others in the waiting room looked on, startled and puzzled by this seemingly random action. He broke away from his fort of hands, glanced around the room, and quickly turned his chair toward the wall.
        "Owen Stockridge, the doctor will see you now." Owen slowly turned his chair back around and walked through the door to the doctor's inner office.
        "Hello, Owen," the doctor greeted cheerfully but with concern. "I hear you had a bad day at school. Is this right?"
        "Well, isn't that why I'm here?" Owen retorted, wiping his nose with his shirtsleeve.
        "Hmm...I suppose. How are you feeling?"
        "Fine," he squeaked with restraint.
        "Something tells me that 'fine' is nowhere near true. If something is wrong, it's okay to tell me. That's what I'm here for; it's my job."
        "I really can't right now."
        "Oh, come on. Is it the kids at school? Are they bothering you at all?"
        "No, it's not that." Tears begin to roll down Owen's face. "You wouldn't understand."
        "Are you sure you don't--"
        "EVERYONE IS DEAD!!!" Owen exploded in a frantic tongue. "EVERYONE IS DEAD AND IT'S ALL MY FAULT!! I was at home doing an experiment, and I was supposed to go, but I needed to finish, and I put in too much of it, and the satellites, and the two ships...oh my god! OH MY GOD!"
        Owen ran from the room, a bout of hysteria consuming him. The doctor dashed after him, only to be stopped in his tracks by Owen's parents.
        "What is going on!?!?" his father demanded. "We just came from watching our son huddled in a corner, crying and saying 'I want my family back', but when we went over to be with him, he shoved us off! Is there something we need to know about!?"
        "Come with me, quickly," the doctor urged. They followed him to his office where he promptly shut the door behind them and stated: "There is something wrong with Owen."
        "I think we figured that out for ourselves already. What is it?"
        "Well, as you know, we've been studying your son's behavior for several years. And, while we aren't sure of what is causing this thing to happen, we--"
        "Wait, what sort of 'thing' are you talking about? Do you have some theory that you could give us?"
        "Yes, but I'm warning you now that it may be hard for you to understand. Owen has an imaginary family."
        "'An imaginary family.' You're kidding, right? That's it? That's a little minor for a child to be screaming and crying and--"
        " You didn't let me finish," the doctor pressed in a frustrated manner. "It is much more complicated than your average 'imaginary friend'. He's created another world in his head; he's had it since the third grade. In the past, when he didn't want to be experiencing certain things, like school or kids picking on him, he could just shut his eyes and live this whole other life. From what we have compiled, he's the same age as he is now and he's on a planet different from ours, very much like a small town: Everyone knows everybody else. Now this all was in willingness, but, lately, he doesn't have to try anymore. The world just comes and goes at random points of time, and something in there is affecting him for the worse."
        From the other room, a second doctor made his way into the office. "Doctor, we must have a word about Owen right away."
        "Now hold on!" Owen's father cracked. "If you or anyone else is giving out information on our son, I think we have a right to hear it, as well!"
        "Fine. You know of his family, yes?"
        "We've been told, yeah."
        "Alright. You see, there is an event in his mind that keeps replaying itself over and over, and it's really eating away at him. He also periodically blurts out such phrases as "This isn't happening!" or "NO!" or....
        "....finish up before I go."
        "Alright. We'll meet you at the 9pm shuttle."
 8.30pm. Saturday.
         I wish this experiment were over! It's taking forever to get it done. How hard could it be to make a potato electromagnetic? Ugh, I hope I'll get done with this in time for the shuttle.
        Owen had been assigned the experiment over a month before, but that had still not been enough time. "Conducting this type of procedure takes a mastering period of at least two years," he would think to himself as he added the battery fluid to the vegetable. As time passed, he thought less and less of the experiment and thought more of his family, on the shuttle at the satellites, waiting for him.
        "Dammit!! Why won't this thing work!?" screamed Owen, frustrated beyond compare. He hurled the experiment out the window, ignoring the electrical wiring that was fastened to the family headquarters. The discharged battery fluid, in conjunction with the electricity wires, caused a great reaction. First a spark, then a loud hissing. Owen acknowledged the problem and ducked behind a desk to protect himself, not letting the experiment out of his sight. The contraption began to spin and generate light so rapidly and so bright, that it was becoming impossible, unbearable to view with the human eye. Suddenly, a massive sound cannoned through Owen's ear canals. BOOM!!! A coarse, harsh flash of light occurred, and, without warning, an electrified bolt shot outward, away from the living quarters. SssssshkBOOM!! A second explosion had occurred, one half mile away in the distance. The contraption slowed gradually until it eventually dropped to the ground. Owen peered over the desk to see what damage his experiment had done. He spied nothing out of place; everything seemed to be the same as before the incident.
        "Phew, I'm glad that's over," he sighed, and turned to see the time.
        "Oh no!" he stammered. "It's nine already! I'm going to be late!!"
        Owen dashed out of the house and hopped on his bicycle, pedalling like a madman to the satellites. He rode for five minutes when, in the distance, he saw a billowing cloud of smoke. "That's the tour area!" he thought to himself. "I wonder if everyone is alright." As he got closer, he grew more and more tense, sensing that something was terribly wrong. He gazed at the control tower, which appeared as though it had been cut in half. Soon, he arrived at the tour site. Something had gone horribly awry.
        The second explosion was that of the two shuttle ships becoming victims of a vicious electric shock, sending the engines into a frenzied mess. They fell from the sky slowly, partly because most of the ships had been disintegrated in the blasting.
        Owen looked on in horror. "No," he cried. "NO!! This isn't happening!"
        "This isn't happening!!"
        The other doctors and nurses, at this point, had gathered around Owen, some observing him, others preparing to pounce onto him, hoping to calm him. "NO!!!" Owen's roar sounded as if his vocal cords were ripping apart. "Go!" shouted Nurse #1. Several others took the cue and leaped upon Owen, smothering him as best they could, his parents looking on inches away, horror infesting their bodies.
        "Please let him be alright," his father whispered, perhaps a quiet prayer to aid him.   The orderlies wrestled Owen to the floor, then immediately afterward dragged him into the emergency room.
        "I'd like to see you right now," the doctor urged. The Stockridges followed him into the office.
        "We need to know more about Owen at home lately. We've spent so much time analyzing his behavior with us that we have completely overlooked his behavior at home."
 Mrs. Stockridge answered for both her husband and herself. "Okay, well, he keeps to himself most of the time, mainly stuck in his books. That's how he has behaved of late."
        "Has anything changed or upset him at home?"
        "Well, we did have an argument about his grades, but that's about it."
        "I need to have details, each and every one."
    "Alright. I went to Owen's room and caught him in one of his books again, so I asked him about his grades, and he just shurgged and said, 'I don't know'. That set me off, so I told him that those books were a waste of his time and he should be thinking about what he wants to do in the future. He came back with 'I want to be a writer'. Everyone knows there is no money to be made in that profession, so I told him that, and he said 'I don't care'.  And I said 'Why do you make it so difficult for us to be proud of you?' and temporarily kicked him out of the house to think about his problem. While he was out, I cleaned his room and got rid of all his books. You need good grades to succeed in life, and he just doesn't see that."
        "Tell me, do any of his friends come over often?"
        "Actually, I've never met a friend of Owen's."
        "I was afraid that was the case."
        "What? Whatever do you mean?"
        "Don't you see? You've stripped him of all he really has. His books were his salvation, along with the alternate family in his head."
        "Oh, that's absurd, I nev--"
        "In throwing away his books, you destroyed his only companion, next to his...oh no."
        "What? What are you thinking?"
        In an accusing, almost bitter tone, the Doctor explained. "Studies show that when a person like yourself does a thing like that to a person with the same sort of psychological condition that Owen is in, something similar to the previous action happens in their brain, causing them to have a breakdown of some sort, which, depending on the case, can be mild like crying a lot, or severe, like going into seizures or slight psychological comas, or extreme fits of anger...any number of  things. No one quite knows for sure what one will do. It's all up to the individual. Some have developed intense anxiety problems, others have taken to purging themselves."
        "Oh my lord," Mrs. Stockridge passed through her lips as though it were her last breath. "I didn't know it could be that serious."
        "Sometimes the imagination takes a couple days to react to this sort of thing. How long ago did you have the argument?"
        With a quivering of her voice, Mrs. Stockridge answered, "S-six d-days ago."
        "Christ!" the Doctor exclaimed. "We may be too late!"
        Owen looked around in sad amazement at the remains of the disaster, of his family. "This can't be happening," he wept, over and over. He fell to the ground, bawling at the realization of the cause of the disaster. "It's my fault," he cried. "It's my fault." He curled into a fetal position, clutching his knees. From another source of being, he heard his mother speaking out to him. "We waited for you. Why weren't you there?" He curled tighter. "We waited for you. We waited for you...." The words echoed through his mind. "....We waited for you. We waited for you...." The words changed slightly. "...We wait for you. We wait for you." Owen sat up and repeated the words to himself, in his mind. "'We wait for you.'" This struck something inside of him that gave him hope. "I can be with them again!" he cried. "I can be with them!" He realized what he had to do.
        "Doctor!!" the head orderly shouted, noticeably out of breath.
        "Yes, what is it? Did something happen to Owen?"
        The orderly nodded and spoke in partial sentences between breaths. "He was down...tried to give shot...hurled us away...ran out door."
        "What!? Where is he?"
        "I don't know. People...still looking...could be anywhere."
        He climbed atop the nearest skyscraper. Looking on the ground below, he wept at the sight of the now--minute remains of what he once had. "I'll be there soon, don't worry," he bawled. "Don't worry." He stepped to the edge of the building. "I'm on the next ship. The countdown is starting now."
        Ten.
        "I'll be there."
        Nine.
        "Don't worry."
        Eight.
        "I'm sorry."
        Seven.
        "I'm arriving soon."
        Six.
        "Please don't be angry with me."
        Five.
        "I'll make it up to you."
        Four.
        "It was an accident."
        Three.
        "I'm almost there. Anytime, I'll be there."
        Two.
        "I miss you."
        One.  
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