The Dimension of Us

Anna Wray

“Stella, good baby. Come here, sweetheart.”

She almost reached for her, into light that seemed harsh enough to burn straight through flesh. That troubled her less than it should. The beam widened with another pulse, the floor shuddering beneath her feet as the walls swayed, and strands of Stella’s fur lifted and drifted like snow.

She stumbled forward, falling toward Stella, and a high, unnatural sound split the air. Pressure built behind her eyes, and she heard popping, like bones were breaking. The bright light encircled them, catching them when they should have fallen, stretching them. A violent jolt followed, and her body snapped back as if all her cells had been taken apart and then realigned.

The harsh light flashed, and gravity slammed back into her. Her knees buckled as her feet landed with a rough, dragging drop, like being released from a grip that had squeezed too long. The moonbeam surrounding them faded, the last shimmering particles vanishing. Silence rushed in, vast as a vacuum.

This was nothing like Earth.