Luna Station Quarterly is a speculative fiction magazine featuring stories by emerging women authors.
Now in our 8th year!

Out of My Mind

Kyla zipped past the bundle of fibres that connected Chris’ cerebral cortex to his brain stem. She tramped through the squishy pink environment and wondered what was on his mind. During their last “meeting” she’d felt something was wrong. She’d arrived early to find out what it was. She also had something important to tell him. She had to hurry.
She checked the Neuron-integrated GPS system as she trekked through his medulla oblongata. Thanks to this unique GPS, Kyla and Chris could get together during the week despite the fact that they lived almost 500 miles apart. It cost nearly a year’s salary, but was worth it. As she walked along, she heard Chris tell his science students about their upcoming assignment.
She fingered a delicate thread as she walked past the bundle of fibres, wondering why he seemed so distant lately. Then she sat down in his Mesencephalon and waited. She felt anxious, though, and nauseous. She couldn’t sit still. She thought about going to his thalamus to watch axons from all of his sensory systems synapse there. Maybe they held some clues as to his recent absent-mindedness. But as much as she loved to watch the sparkle of electricity as neurons sent signals to other cells, she knew that without proper tools, she’d never know what information was being relayed. It would take her years to figure that out.
But she did know one place that might hold some clues: his cerebral cortex. She decided to go, even though she knew Chris would be furious. What happened in the past should stay in the past, he always said. He’s right about that, Kyla thought as she patted her stomach, but we need to deal with the past before we can move on to a great future together. She turned down a dark, damp passage and checked her GPS system again. A little bit of light emanated from it, but it was too dark to see much. She had to feel her way around.
Her long pale fingers stroked the walls of his limbic system as she moved forward. Great blotches of white swam before her eyes just then. A flood of nausea washed over her. As she doubled over, something cold and hard knocked against her shoulder. She grabbed for it just in time. It felt like the brass door handle of the Old Victorian home she was renting. She straightened herself out, pushing a strand of sweaty black hair from her face. Then she wiped her clammy forehead with the back of her hand.
With her hands on her hips, she looked up at the wall in the darkness, trying to figure out where she was. She pressed her palms against the damp walls of her lover’s mind, and felt letters engraved on the wall. It took her some time to read it, but she finally did. Hippocampus, it said. Keep out.
Kyla could not resist a challenge. The words ‘Keep out’ tempted her even more than a chocolate devil cake could. She pushed and shoved against the door, having overcome her dizziness and nausea. She rammed hard. The door dislodged. She held her breath. A flood of light made her blink. She frowned. Gingerly, she took a step forward.
An endless passageway of doors extended in front of her. She felt engulfed by the doors, unsure of which one to approach first. There were so many of them. She took a step. She walked slowly past each door, noting the different styles and colours. She noticed they each had a name. An ornate, fluffy pink door read Pamela Anderson. The blue door on the opposite side said Veronica Hamilton. An adjacent door, metallic black with lacy trimmings, was marked Jordan. Kyla sneered.
Kyla walked past countless names. She kept walking until she reached the end of the corridor, where one door stood out from all the rest. It was set higher than the other doors, with pretty steps leading up to it. The door itself was tastefully decorated. A light shade of amber, the smooth material sparkled when you caught it at just the right angle. Kyla was spellbound, until she read the name. Kristine Brooks. Her heart skipped a beat. ‘Kristine Brooks,’ she muttered again, as though the words themselves were a curse.
The tall slinky woman stared at the door. A flurry of emotions prickled through her. Nausea overcame her again. She clutched at her stomach. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she tried to force back the vomit that threatened to rise. She placed her other hand on the door knob. She had to know what was inside. She had to. With a twist of the door handle, she stepped inside. Kyla set foot inside a luminous white room. Her breath felt like it was trapped in her throat. She choked.
Her black hair blustered and wafted in the air. Around her, millions of thoughts of Kristine Brooks swirled like mystical creatures with translucent wings and long tails. ‘I miss your beautiful eyes and your golden hair.’ Some of Chris’ thoughts came down like mist, sprinkling on to Kyla’s face and hair. She shuddered. ‘I miss your soft brown skin.’ Others whirled from the right and twirled from the left, dancing around her. ‘You’re so sexy. I can’t stop thinking about you.’
But there was one thought that dominated all the others. ‘I still love you. I always will.’ Kyla pounced like a wild beast, trying to tear the thought away. But it was always just out of reach. She swooped and bounded, blood thumping in her ears. Tears leapt from her eyes as she thrashed her arms, trying to catch them. She would destroy them all.

A bit about the author:

Larissa Focke likes to write sci-fi, horror and flash fiction, but she's a technical writer by trade. Her head is always in the clouds, her fingers dipped in chocolate and her nose in a book. She lives in South Africa. Visit author page