Proxima B

Upon opening his eyes, he saw the screen on the wall and realized the landscape he was seeing showed the wrong colours. The pink shade of the landscape was disturbing, almost otherworldly. His first thought was that the colors of the monitor were unbalanced, maybe the settings had been altered. Then he noticed the sterile environment around him and a chilling shiver ran down his spine.

He was lying down on a bed in a very stark, sterile room. The walls were an impersonal white, the kind found in hospitals or laboratories. He wasn't strapped to the bed, yet a strange paralysis overwhelmed him, as though his limbs had forgotten how to move. The bed, though comfortable, provided little warmth against the pervasive cold that seeped into his bones, leaving him feeling very cold indeed.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He felt an icy sweat form on his forehead as the realization crept in—he had no memory of how he had ended up here. The last thing he remembered was reading the letter of his acceptance into the space programme as member of the biology team. What did the letter say? << “…once a candidate is accepted s/he will undergo a strict training  preparation. The crew will to be in ‘cryosleep,’ for four hundred years, the time the ship will require to reach Alpha Centauri the closer star to our sun... The ‘Cryotubes’ will be activated automatically once the ship leaves earth’s orbit and the computers set course to ‘Proxima B’...” >>

Then he came back to his immediate reality and strained to listen for any sounds that could give him a clue, but the room was eerily silent, save for the faint hum of the monitor. The screen continued to display the unsettling pink landscape, an image that seemed to mock his confusion and fear. “Am I in Proxima B”? are these the effects of waking up of ‘cryosleep’? is that why I am so cold?” 

Desperation fueled his attempts to move. He willed his fingers to twitch, his toes to curl. But his body refused to obey.

A faint beep broke the silence. He turned his head with great effort to see a small panel beside the bed. A green light blinked rhythmically, indicating some kind of monitoring was in place. Slowly, he became aware of an intravenous line attached to his arm. 

Suddenly, he heard a soft click and the door to the room opened. A figure in a green coat stepped in, their face obscured by a surgical mask and cap. The figure approached the bed, checking the IV line and the monitor, then turned to him with a bland, professional demeanor.

“Hi there,” the figure said, their tone oddly soothing. “How you’re feeling? you must have many questions.”

He tried to speak, but his throat was dry, and all that came out was a hoarse whisper. The figure placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “Don't worry, you're safe. We had to sedate you for the procedure, but the effects will wear off soon.”

Procedure? What procedure? His mind raced even faster now. The figure continued, “You are part of an important experiment studying the effects of chromatic therapy on the human psyche and physical response.”

“Chromatic therapy? What ‘s that? His eyes widened, trying to convey his confusion and fear. The figure seemed to understand and patted his arm gently.

“Rest now, everything is under control. We'll explain more once you're feeling better.”

With that, the figure left the room, and the door clicked shut behind. He was alone again. The strange colors, the paralysis, the cold—it was all part of this chromatic therapy. “Perhaps was a way to accommodate the body to the ‘Proxima B’s’ environment.” 

Exhaustion began to take over as his body fought the lingering effects of the sedation. His eyes grew heavy, and he allowed them to close, hoping that when he woke, he would have more answers.

“Ha! you’re awake, glad we can continue our conversation” a voice said as he tried to find out where the voice was coming from. As he raises his head, he noticed several monitors all with different imagens. One still had the disturbing pink landscape, but the others were of rooms and corridors. Realising he was seating on an office chair and the voice he was hearing was coming from behind. He turned his chair around, in the direction of the voice. This time the person talking to him didn’t have a mask, showing a young almost juvenile face. The person behind the voice said, “that you walked all the way to my office is very good news.”

“Did I? I don’t have a memory of it and what is chromatic therapy?” he responded. The young Dr smiled and in a calming voice responded. “I am not sure what do you mean when you asked about chromatic therapy. Let me start from the beginning.”

“I am Dr Lee, the surgeon who removed the tumor in your head. The tumor was giving you hallucinations. First of all, let me tell you the surgery was a completed success. Unfortunately, there will be aftereffects, that will, we hope, go away as your brain reshapes new paths in your cerebral cortex initially…” 

He abruptly interrupted almost in panic asking, “What surgery? which effects are you talking about?” 

Dr Lee without addressing the questions continued “…initially your eyes are going to be susceptible to a different spectrum of colours a little different than what one could considered normal. Which it doesn’t mean it is abnormal, just different, like the men who are colour blind, for example you may see pink where there are shades of brown or light greens. We will not know until you tell us. Your memory will need sometime to recover. We are not sure how much you have lost or how much you’ll recover. Again, your brain will create new paths to compensate. You must understand it was a decision of life and death. The tumor touched delicate areas of your brain and made you believe you were a biologist on route to outers pace. While you were a primary school teacher at the ‘Prince of Wales Public School’ on Monagham Road. Your colleagues brought you to the ‘Peterborough Regional Health Centre,’ after you collapsed. Your mom gave us the necessary authorizations for your surgery and …”