You could see the noxious vapours swirling about the professor’s flyer, its propellers creating a shield around us. I looked down the side from my seat, and noticed that I could make out the buildings now. The streets were still hidden from view, trapped underneath a thick layer of pollution.
The professor was bringing us down, down into a tiny park. I was dying to get out and step on land again, even if it had to be done while I was covered up in layer upon layer of protective clothing. I leapt off and stamped on the ground as soon as the flyer touched the grass. I stretched, about as well as I could. My goggles were already starting to get muddy.
“Take these wipes,” the professor said from behind me, her voice muffled by the oxygen mask she was wearing. “Use them only when you need to. There aren’t many of them.” I formed an ‘OK’ sign with my fingers and stuffed the wipes into a pocket.
“I don’t bring many people here,” the professor said. Not a single hint of her humanity was visible through the protective clothing and the tinted goggles. “Not many people believe this place exists to begin with. They think I’m crazy. Well, now you’re crazy too. Crazy enough to come here.”
I thanked her for the privilege and suggested we get a move on.
The people of the city went about their daily business. They never wore any protective gear. The miasma wasn’t just invisible to them—it was inside them now. They lived entire lives within the horrid air of this city, becoming corrupted from within.
They walked down the sidewalks, and entered shops, and could be seen crossing the streets and boarding their cabs. They wore hats and dresses, they laughed and they spoke in the Old Language.
“It’s tempting to think this is a real city,” the professor said, “But it’s as real as a dream. The people here can’t see you. Their eyes are so clouded by the air, they can only see others who are contaminated.”
She was right, of course. None of the people in the city so much as glanced in our direction. I thought of taking pictures again, but the professor had forbidden cameras. “A pointless burden,” she’d said, “All you get out of pictures here is a brown haze.”
The longer we spent in the city, the more I came to find that the dwellers here seemed to be living normal lives. They weren’t sickly or diseased like I’d imagined. They weren’t crawling on the earth, or clawing at each other for some kind of cannibalistic survival. They were perfectly dressed, civilised, gentlemanly people with sophisticated lives. Just like us, you could say.
“Nonsense,” the professor said, her body turned vaguely in my direction. She used a wipe to clean her goggles, but I still couldn’t see her eyes. “They’re gone. They’re not in the real world anymore. Not in our world. The miasma has taken a told of them, and it has consumed them from the inside out. They think they’re living normal lives, but they’re manipulated by the particulates and they don’t even know it.”
I countered the claim. “Does it matter?” I asked, “They’re happy doing what they want. What more can you ask for?”
The professor pointed a finger at me threateningly, “If they’re not like us, they’re not living the right way. It doesn’t matter how satisfied they seem. This whole city is a corruption. You can see it, I can see it. They can’t see it. Their perception is flawed, ours isn’t.”
I took the goggles off my head and tossed them to the ground. The glass shattered on the street. Layer after layer of clothing covering me fell and I breathed in deeply.
“You idiot, you grandiose idiot,” the professor fumed.
The world felt so clear and so clean. And a gentleman and a lady were inquiring if I was alright. The professor was nowhere to be found. The grassy park we’d landed on was empty, save for a few children playing tag.
I breathed in and then exhaled.
