Arena

Arena by Fredric Brown - It was a weird sort of battle for survival–not only of individuals, but each, against his will, represented his whole race. And the battle rested on ingenuity, tenacity and courage, not strength alone.

Carson opened his eyes, and found himself looking upwards into a flickering blue dimness.

It was hot, and he was lying on sand, and a rock embedded in the sand was hurting his back. He rolled over to his side, off the rock, and then pushed himself up to a sitting position.

"I’m crazy," he thought. "Crazy–or dead–or something." The sand was blue, bright blue. And there wasn’t any such thing as bright blue sand on Earth or any of the planets.

Blue sand.

Blue sand under a blue dome that wasn’t the sky nor yet a room, but a circumscribed area–somehow he knew it was circumscribed and finite even though he couldn’t see to the top of it.

He picked up some of the sand in his hand and let it run through his fingers. It trickled down on to his bare leg. Bare?

Naked. He was stark naked, and already his body was dripping perspiration from the enervating heat, coated blue with sand wherever sand had touched it.

But elsewhere his body was white.

He thought: then this sand is really blue. If it seemed blue only because of the blue light, then I’d be blue also. But I’m white, so the sand is blue. Blue sand. There isn’t any blue sand. There isn’t any place like this place I’m in.

© 2024 Scott Miller (Lydbog): 9798882346644

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Lydbog: 5. oktober 2024