My breathing was irregular—loud with a panting sound, of an exhausting kind. I'd inhale, yet it felt hesitant, and the pounding of my heart against my chest was that of a thrust like a ball thrown towards a wall, nabbing it decisively.

I had to leave. I had to end the bond that did nothing more than elude me from this reality. I discovered it not a second too late—that this was the ultimate plan, the ultimate resolution of all the attempts made that would end my journeys, of repertoires , on this aquatic earth-bound universe.

“Are you all right, professor?” a female student of mine called to me.

She was crouched close by on the floor while I leaned on my desk. All the other students gathered around, perched forward and murmuring hysterically, then all of them at once extended their arms to help me stand from this tired and fallen position that I was in. I suddenly realized that my glasses were lopsided on my face. The fall must have shaken my entire body terribly.

“Some water…please…” I nearly gasped to anyone.

A young man immediately dashed out of the classroom and returned with a cup of water in one hand while the other dangled in a hurried rhythmical suspension. The water inside the cup was dripping from the bottom—the drips seemed so relentless, piling to form a drainage that went from his hand down to his arm, then to his elbow and finally onto the floor where a zigzag formation of splattered droplets laid a road that directed itself through the crowd of students and terminated at my feet.

“Here, Professor!” the young man yelled, handing me the cup.

The cylindrical vessel trembled as I brought it to my lips. I drank like a desperate man who'd travel aimlessly and unprepared for the natural occurrences of bodily functions. I drank it all, then stared into the narrowing end of the cup searching for the crack that released most of the water.

“Professor? Would you care for more water?” I heard the young man request with a daunting look, similar to the facial expressions that all of the other students had. My desolate gaze from this cylindrical to the students nearly embarrassed me into an apologetic smile as I wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my shirt. I then proceeded to place the cup on the desk carefully, almost hypnotically, with the reverse side on the counter.

“No….I'm fine,” I found myself saying. “I'm fine now.”

After having heard these words, the students pressed to their desks to collect their books. Class was ended. I teach college and high school science. Exploratory science, one based on intuitive facts rather than physical findings, that eventually lead to concrete facts. I apologized for any inconveniences, as well as wondering about what had just happened. My clothes didn't look too familiar.

“Professor? Are you all right?”

I recognized the voice—it belonged to the young man who brought me the cup of water earlier. His name is Antoine Salano. A bright student who stayed to make sure my condition was not feasible of doing any more anomalies. “What happened?” I asked him in a guessful tone, hoping that I'd find the answer instead.

“You fell,” he stated softly.

“Yes, I know I was on the floor…I remember talking about equivalence….”

A walk to the classroom window helped me to recall this portion of the event as I noticed below, in the school- yard, student huddles, pointing towards the building I was presently in. I'm sure that by now I was the topic of conversation in the entire school.

“You were telling us about Time Equivalence, Professor Silverman. You said that everything seemed like an equation.” I understood Salano informing me as he prepared to exit the classroom.

“Do you believe it?” I inquired without looking directly at him, yet maintaining my sight on the school's courtyard.

“Yes, I do,” the young man replied, stepping slowly out of the room. “Have a good day, Professor.”

“I will,” were the only words that I was able to say.

I walked through the schoolyard contemplating. By now the yard was empty. I felt disturbed, as though what had just happened was meant to be a revealing opportunity.

“Hello, dubious!” someone from behind me called. I turned to look, only to find a woman who was totally strange to me. I did greet her, though very cautiously. She, on the other hand, swung her arms around my shoulder in an amorous manner, while my immediate reaction was to question her motives.

“Madam?”

“You're kidding, right, Ruffos?” she demanded, a bit displeased with me.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ruffos? It's me, Maggie. What's wrong? Why the ‘stranger' look?”

Her persistence in knowing who I was continued as she took my suitcase and wrapped her arm around my waist, then escorted me to an unknown vehicle, giving me a tight sum of information.

“After your call, about an hour ago, I thought you'd be more happy to see me. Daniel doesn't know you're here. He thinks you skipped a week to research The Zone. You're safe for now. Here.” She handed me a sealed envelope. “Everything you need is in here. I'm taking you to your new residence. The blue transporter outside the apartment building is for your use. I advise you to hurry before they find you. Remember, this is the last time you'll see me.”

She drove into a tall security-conducted residential building. “Ruffos?” I heard her calling faintly as my mind wandered, searching to make sense of what was happening. Why did I find myself so attracted to this woman? “Ruffos?!” I heard her yell slightly, a sound that jogged my mind to realize that I was staring questionably at the envelope, not knowing what to say. I only marveled as to what part of my life's equation led me to this point in time. “You don't have to say anything,” she said, leaning her body against mine while she lifted my face slowly. We stared quietly, then kissed. Both of us surrendered to the sensation. It was at this moment that I saw a scene like a memory flashing before my eyes.

I saw myself in an office, a room in some part of the house from where I could see and hear my two children approaching the door as they argued over a toy train (one not much older than the other, between the ages two and three). The mother is nowhere in sight, yet I still see myself inside this office speaking to someone on the phone when I glimpse at a paper in front of me on the desk which reads:

Dear world,

I know now why I'm here and the reason for everything around me. At first, I wasn't knowledgeable of being alive for any particular purpose except for that of living; then I figured out that all exists as part of an equation. All relying on the same source to be accountable. Everything (what one perceives as still life along with its counter-existence that I'll identify as moving life, because, honestly, everything does move—everything).

This analysis came to me one night while sleeping. I have a wife and two children (two boys). These came into my life because I commend them, so does the moon and the stars because of man's insistence for visible answers. This applies to math, medicine, etc., and matches the level of desire and the state of comprehension of the existent—be it words, a landscape, or the air itself.

Here is the equation: I was putting to the test my theory to the outcome of a planetary subsidiary degenerative mild form of infiltration (a vaccine based on supposition or suggestion) transforming and transferring an individual or environment into another plane of existence correlated by its points in opposition (possibilities).

“Ruffos?” Maggie called, tugging on my arm. “Be careful,” she said.

“What?” I whispered to her as my mind returned to focus on the “me” inside the car.

“Be careful,” she persisted, while shaking my arm a bit in hopes to help me concentrate; then she gently placed her hand on my face, revealing to me that I had a trimmed beard.

“You said that I won't see you again.”

“You made this decision clear. If we are separate The Zone will have a greater chance for survival. Leave, Ruffos.” That was her last plea.

“Do I know you?” were the words that stumbled out of my mouth as I stared into her eyes. My voice sounded like a fading musical note on a bugle attempting to revive itself, only to find that the song being played has come to an end.

The blue transporter was a two-door arrow-shaped sports car and I, once a 41-year-old man, am now a man in his 70s, yet my abilities seem more daring than ever. This car was rare and similar to Maggie's. The doors opened to the rear on approach (apparently by a relay), the seats adjust to each driver, automatically, the moment the person is seated, the ignition is activated by a mode on a flat round disc (about ½” in diameter) that slides into a slot on the dashboard near the steering wheel; the vehicle is equipped to read speed limits, as well as to record driving directions, and is built with night vision control headlights. The transporter did have an extra advantage—it disabled other vehicles' units of non-equal value during a chase and its command on the road is superbly outstanding, measuring jet speeds, built with oxygen facilities and ejection alternatives including flight capacities of over 1000 feet.

I am now inside the apartment, which is small but comfortable.

Everything was orderly and mechanical. The envelope that I hoped contained a more thorough explanation as to how I arrived at that point in time lay on the kitchen table. The man in the mirror reminded me of someone who had taken a wrong turn. What was the complete equation that I found myself working through in the office? And who was I speaking with on the phone?

The contents of the envelope were baffling. There was a key, an address, a telephone number and a name—Antoine (MY student?). Why did Maggie call me Ruffos? (My name is Andy Silverman.) And what, and where, is The Zone? I'm alone and confused, yet I felt secured until the telephone rang. Should I answer it? If I don't, I'll never know what to expect.

“Mr. Silverman? It's me, Danny! I meant to call earlier, but I was under the impression that you weren't going to be home. So I thought I'd call you at your most private seclusion.”

“Apparently we've already spoken. Why this urgency?” I questioned in a whisper, for I realized the apartment had been uncovered, but the matter now was to guess his motive for calling and announcing his discovery.

“I'm only interested in The Zone. No one needs to be hurt,” he said carefully.

“Are you referring to Maggie?”

“Meet me there, Professor,” were his last words.

What was the equation? Why is The Zone so significant? And the telephone number included in the envelope, where does it lead?

“Who's calling?” It was Antoine Salano.

“Mr. Salano? It's me, Professor Silverman.”

“Why are you calling? Maggie said that we should only make contact when The Zone is in danger.”

“I've been found,” I stated sadly.

“Meet me at The Zone,” he said.

Could the address in the envelope be that of The Zone? And did I change my mind about following through an equation that I risked the momentum of the one I was working on? I collected everything that came in the envelope and just as I stepped out of the apartment I was approached by two men in long black coats. I immediately ran the opposite direction, yet I could hear them, paces away, ordering me to stop; but the desperate sounds of their bodies and feet as they ran gave me a sense of distrust (an inner feeling telling me not to stop for any reason). Without hesitation I took the stairway, descending hurriedly two or three steps at a time, even jumping an entire staircase and over the banisters. The pursuers were right behind me. It nearly ended when I exited the building where I was tackled and thrown to the ground. There were spectators everywhere, yet no one daring to be involved. I still had the envelope in my hand as I scuffled and released myself, surprisingly, from their grip, the only opportunity that allowed me to leave the transporter from where the chase continued.

The transporter was the final hope. Being that there are specific roadways and aerial ways for these vehicles confined me to moving through certain streets before lift entrances became visible. Its astounding command was amazing. The overwhelming allowable speeds, the lit colorful roads digitally orienting my vehicle on the ground and through the air was unsurpassable by any feeling imaginable, for it has to be felt. I somehow managed to lose sight of the two men when I was stopped by the air space commanders who recognized who I was and released me and directed me to RUFFOS, abbreviations for Returning to Union Forces Focusing on Survival.

At my arrival there I recognized it instantly. It was the house where I saw myself caring for two sons while I worked from home. I wondered if the key in the envelope would open the house, but it didn't.

“No, that's not what the key is for, Dad. I thought you'd remember by now what happened,” I heard from behind me. I dared not turn, but I knew the tone wasn't threatening and I knew whose it was.

“What happened?” I tried to imagine the answer by looking about, noticing that everything once held a place in time, a long time ago. The grass was wild, the porch had a beautiful wooden swing still intact. I then glimpsed behind an old clay pot by the door for something that caught my attention. I bent and reached for it, smiling. At that moment I felt that some time in my life was lost. It was a toy train, faded yet well preserved. I held it close, hoping Antoine wouldn't see.

“That train was what took you, all of us, through an equation you decided to pursue instantly that day Danny and I both wanted to play with it. You were working on a project that you called RUFFOS. It was based on a revolutionary technology where man can evolve to exceed, by operated programming, including decisions which were to be based on suppositions correlated by the points in opposition. This also meant education and labor. Everyone has to fulfill an equation, to deal with decisions oriented toward the greater all—all universal advancement. Very little is left to assumptions. The resolution, being beneficial, was then practiced.”

“And Danny?” I dared to ask.

“He's fine, Dad; just don't try to re-evaluate your theory or you will meet with him through two very large men again.”

“Can I ever hug him again?”

“As long as you stay within the boundaries of this equation,” I heard him say with his arms wide open as he approached me.

“And that beautiful young woman? Maggie?” I asked during our embrace.

“You mean Mom?” I knew it all along. I smiled with approval as Antoine reminded me that everything will start making sense through time. I tossed the key, only to find that my son placed it inside my palm again and closed it gently.

“I thought you wanted to see The Zone?”

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