Preword: This is my entry written for the Lascaux Flash short story contest for September – I’m entry #99! If you want to check out the contest and the other entries, visit http://www.lascauxflash.com/.
He could feel the creaking and shaking of the machine through his fatigues. The noise was deafening. He was certain it would shake itself apart at any second. He was grateful for the darkness of the helmet; it helped him stave off motion sickness and claustrophobia in the bunker.
“Beginning the alignment,” intoned one of the scientists. Rosen, maybe? Schrödinger? He focused on ignoring the sudden mental wrenching. His thoughts skittered like droplets of oil, and colors burst in the blackness of his vision.
The sensations grew further beyond description as the colors intensified. His eyelids were transparent. Closing them was no use.
He could see through the colors now, interpret them. The helmet was gone, although he could still feel its pressure on his head. He saw the one with the wild hair (Einstein?) against the back wall, covering his eyes. He had spoken against the experiment, insisting that the theory would result in a paradoxical backlash.
The buzz of thoughts filled his mind. “Quantum packet alignment at ninety percent!” Podolsky shouted. He watched the words dance in his vision, every color in existence at once. “We are almost there!”
“Entanglement is falling apart!” cried Schrödinger. “He is still too unstable!”
Thoughts were crass, unwieldy. He was. He was a taut string, tightening towards the tune of the cosmos. He could feel the colors merging, cracking, annealing. They reached for him as the scientists screamed and faded to white.
For one brief instant, he felt the touch of God.
(If this story makes no sense, try reading the “History” section of http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quantum_entanglement.)