He had twenty-four hours without sleeping to break it up, to decide on each allocation of power.

Helmet. In hopes of reversing this trap he’d found with his mind moving at normal speed while his body remained frozen, or of finding a better way out.

Another day followed, where he felt like he looked back on every decision he’d made in his life, prayed to every deity he could think of, and he realized it was possible Alabaster was in much the same circumstance. At set intervals, Alabaster reverted states, going back to the one he was in when he had entered this time-slowing bubble.

It was possible Alabaster was in the same circumstance he was, and had been from the start.

Helmet again.

Another twenty-four hours. It had only been what felt like a day, and already, the events that played and replayed in his mind became distorted. He couldn’t help going back to them, at the same time. He felt like his ego was disintegrating in this space where nothing could happen. He watched the world beyond the bubble, silhouettes moving throughout a rebuilding Boardwalk, and tried to divine particulars or hints about the outcome, who might have survived.

There was a festival to close out the evening. The music was muffled, as if from a house next door, but it did a lot to stave off the low points and the circular thinking.

The sun rose, and he had another choice. Helmet, because anything else would offer only the smallest benefit, and he knew he had a long way to go.

On the third day, he almost managed to convince himself that some individual parts of his past were fictional, figments of his imagination. Almost.

Noon came around, and a group of young students passed through the area. Some came to see him. A teacher or someone followed them, and one of them read off the placquard. He hadn’t been aware there was a third person in here.

Again, there was a festival. He could have wept, he was so grateful for the stimulation. It lasted until what had to be one or two in the morning.

People slept. He found himself remaining where he was, doubting everything.

Sunrise came. With it, he had more power to give. Again, he chose the helmet.

His perception of the world beyond the bubble clarified.

And so it went. Helmet. Helmet. Helmet. For twenty-three days.

By the twenty-third, he was capable of seeing and hearing everything that went on in the buildings nearby. Businesses. He watched people like he would watch bad television.

Every visit was a panacea for the soul. He learned the faces of the repeat visitors and he learned the whys. Some came from out of state. It meant something, in this place where meaning was lost to a black, insensate void.