AN: See my profile for background information and the update schedule for this story as well as my review policies.

Here I am,
A rabbit-hearted girl,
Frozen in the headlights.
It seems I've made,
The final sacrifice.

- Florence and the Machine, "Rabbit-Heart/Raise it Up"

It was five o'clock at my house, and that meant that the TV was on while my parents caught up on the happenings throughout the country. Grimacing, I turned the volume on my iPod up again in attempt to drown out the news anchors. I almost wished that they'd just read newspapers instead of watching Fox or MSNBC. It'd be quieter anyway. Something that I would have greatly appreciated since I was trying to solve a particularly tricky algebra problem.

The more I tried to chip away at it, the more frustrated I got. My work wasn't coming out, and I wasn't sure what to do next. I kept checking the back of the book to see if my answer was correct, but kept coming up wrong. And I didn't know why. I used the method outlined in my DIVE program. I should have been getting the right answer! A lump formed in my throat and tears of frustration threatened to spill. Annoyed at myself, I shoved them back.

Oh, come on, Natasha, I told myself scathingly. It's just a math problem. There's no need to get so worked up.

But I have so much other stuff that needs to get done! I answered myself.

Too much to do, and not enough time to do it. That's what this was really about. I was so overwhelmed with the amount of schoolwork that needed doing. This in addition to making sure that my horse, a black Arabian gelding named Shasta, had adequate care and exercise. I needed to go out and clean his stall tonight, but I couldn't go until my homework was done. I hadn't been able to get out there yesterday, and I knew that Shasta's stall was going to be a huge mess. It would probably take me a good hour to clean it out. I'd need another two hours to ride him, taking into account the time it took to tack him up beforehand and clean him off afterwards.

Come on, Natasha. Focus.

Shaking thoughts of my horse out of my head, I returned my attention to the problem at hand. I picked up my pencil and tried again. In the background, a report on a murder in Tennessee cut through "Fuego" by the band Bond and threatened to break my concentration. I found myself listening to the report rather than thinking about the numbers in the equations. It was hard to keep my attention on the problem. Letting out a sigh and fighting another lump in my throat, I all but threw down my pencil when my answer came up the same as last time. Still wrong.

I couldn't do this. I was too worked up. I needed a break.

Knowing that the temperature was actually nice today, I decided to go for a walk. Maybe I could get my mind back on track that way. It certainly would help stabilize my emotions. I pulled out my earbuds and shut off my iPod. Pushing my rolling chair away from my desk, I turned my back on my math homework and went searching for a jacket. I knew there was one somewhere in this mess.

I don't bother with keeping my room clean during the school year. There are more important things that need doing. Putting my clothes away or dusting my dresser is a lot lower on my priorities than completing the day's assignments or taking care of Shasta. As a result, things tend to pile up on my floor. There's a complicated route of tiny clear spaces that I use to get from my bed to my desk and to my bedroom door. A couple of laundry baskets are usually present, tucked away at the foot of my bed, usually. Clothes are strewn across the floor to prevent papers from blowing around in the middle of the night. (I sleep with a box fan because otherwise I would wake up when my mother does: 7 am. She's not exactly very good at being quiet.)

Carefully stepping across several shirts and some jeans that were most likely dirty, I started digging through the only laundry basket present. The pile of clothes inside were folded at one point, but they've all become tangled together after sitting in my room for a few days. Pawing through the mass of shirts, jeans, socks, and underwear, I finally start pulling items from the basket. It takes me about five minutes to locate one of my non-barn jackets. With the object found, I unceremoniously gather the heap of removed clothing and dump it back in the basket.

I pulled the hoodie over my head and snagged a pair of socks. It took me another few minutes to locate my shoes amid the conglomeration of things on my floor. Lacing them up, I got to my feet and double-checked my pockets. Pocket knife and keys in the left? Yup. Cell phone in the right? Yup.

Following the route to my door, I pulled it open, only slightly increasing the volume of the TV. My house has a very open floor plan. The family room opens to the second story via a balcony rail. It's nice for when you need a roll of toilet paper because you can just toss it up, but it really carries sound. My room is just past the stairs, meaning that I can hear everything that goes on downstairs, even with my door closed. It's a nightmare when trying to get any homework done, and it makes it extremely hard for me to concentrate on anything.

I stepped up to the balcony rail and looked down into the family room. The entertainment center which houses our TV sits on the wall to the left, a massive wooden beast containing multiple cabinets full of movies. We have two couches, one almost right beneath me and one on the far right wall, facing the entertainment system. Our carpet is a dirty thing that was probably white at some point, but now is just a faded gray color. Dad's always complaining that we need to get it replaced. The walls are a dull off-white, though a couple of nature paintings attempt to liven up the room.

Both my parents were sitting on the couch facing the wood beast. I watched the news reports for a few minutes, waiting for a commercial break because I knew that if I started talking now, Mom would just shush me. Fortunately, I didn't have to wait long.

"I'm going for a walk," I announced from my place on the balcony. Mom and Dad both looked up at me.

"Okay. Be careful," my mom called.

Without any further ado or acknowledgment, I turned and headed down the stairs and was out the front door before the first commercial ended. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, I turned away from the house and started off across the front lawn. It was so much quieter out here than inside. And the air actually smelled alive. Completely unlike the stale, dead air in my house. Given the choice, I'd rather be outside all the time.

I started following the sidewalk up the hill to the left of my house, taking in the sights of the neighborhood and the sweet feeling in the air. I fell into a steady pace as I walked past numerous houses. Most are two stories, and have decently sized yards. There were a few lawnmowers going, but there weren't any kids outside. There are very few in this neighborhood. Most were in my sister Emma's generation. Those kids have either gone off to college or will be within the next year. Not that I really know any of them anyway. When we first moved here, we tried making friends with the few other kids here, but they always went inside when I or Emma came out. Eventually, we just gave up.

The smell of fresh-cut grass greeted me as I crested the top of the hill, and I could see piles of the stuff on the sidewalk ahead. The roar of a lawnmower grew louder as I approached, drowning out the birdsong. I waved politely at the man sitting on the mower, but didn't linger. I hated talking to people I didn't know, and while this guy might live just up the street from me, I had no idea who he was and had absolutely no intention of talking to him. Looking up at the sky, I squinted as I studied the cumulus clouds, loving the contrast of stark white and deep blue.

I continued past the street that led down to the Scott's house and into the section that we called the "New Neighborhood." It wasn't new, exactly. It had actually been there for a couple of years. Some company had started another connecting subdivision back here. They had the street paved and the appropriate piping and electrical stuff done, but then the housing market collapsed a couple years ago and no one's been here since. I stepped onto the blacktop and walked through the empty street. The wind whistled through my loose hair as I followed the road down the small hill. Fresh green grass rustled in the breeze. With the warm temperatures we'd been having recently, I knew that the summer heat couldn't be too far off.

About halfway down the hill, I stopped in puzzlement. Down in the second cul-de-sac was a big blue box. I cocked my head, staring at it for a moment. I'd never seen anything like this down here. Sure, the occasional car came through, but a random blue box? What the heck?

Decided to at least go take a look at it, I headed down the rest of the hill and made a right at the intersection. Normally, I would turn left and continue up into the neighborhood where my friend Teresa lived.

The box was rectangular and labeled as a "Police Public Call Box." Whatever that was. Its shape reminded me vaguely of a phone booth. There was a light at the very top of the Police Public Call Box, sitting on a gently sloping roof. Just below this was the labeling sign, black with back-lit white lettering. Two rectangular windows sat below the sign, divided into six equal rectangles of glass. I assumed that it was the same for every side of the box, though I could now easily see that I was approaching the front of it. There were handles and what looked like a lock as well as a sign on the left door. I couldn't make it out at this distance.

I frowned as I approached the box. The closer I got, the more I could hear this strange, pulsating hum. It started out so faint that I thought I was imagining it at first, but it was definitely there.

Weird, I thought. I stopped about three feet away from it and just listened for a moment. The sound was undoubtedly coming from the box. I also had this weird feeling, like there was someone else with me. Turning to look behind me, I confirmed that I was alone. No suspicious cars were parked nearby either. Looking back at the box, I raised an eyebrow, wondering just what this weird sound and the feeling were about. For one hair-raising moment, I could almost have imagined that the box was watching me.

Shaking my head and forcibly dispelling the feeling from my mind, I turned my attention to the sign on the left door.

Police Telephone
Free
For use of
Public
Advice & assistance
Obtainable immediately
Officers & cars
Respond to all calls
Pull to open

Huh, I thought, reading it. Cocking my head as I considered the strange object, I walked all the way around it. Reaching out a hand, I stroked the smooth painted wood. There wasn't even a hint of a splinter on its deep blue surface. Coming back to the front again, I was about to just shrug and move on when I noticed that one of the doors was open just a crack.

Now I was curious.

There probably wasn't anything in it. I could picture it in my mind now: just a small, dark space painted the same color as the outside of the box. Still, my mind kept jumping to different conclusions, each more absurd than the last. What if there was someone inside waiting to jump out and surprise me? Maybe Teresa? Maybe there was a clown in there. Or maybe I was about to become a famous movie star! While I rolled my eyes at that last thought, I was still curious, and I knew that it would bug me forever if I didn't open it. I reached my hand out and gave the door a gentle push.

"Whoa," I couldn't help but say as I looked into the box. I'd had a lot of ideas about what could be in the box, but oddly enough, an optical illusion hadn't come to mind. It appeared as if I was looking into a large room. Far larger than the box itself. The walls were gold with copper plating higher up and the ceiling appeared to be at least twenty feet high. Bright circular lights set high into the walls lit the space. A set of stairs that seemed to be just past the doors led up to a glass platform on which sat a circular console. A glass funnel, illuminated from within by a blueish-green light extended from the center of the console to the ceiling. The console itself had levers, buttons, switches, and dials on it. It even had a keyboard. A small screen hung from a track above the console, giving the impression that it could be moved around to wherever you felt like standing.

Whoever painted this had an extremely active imagination, not to mention some purely amazing artistic skills. Oddly enough though, it wasn't signed. Although, that probably would have ruined the illusion. I couldn't even tell where the corners of the box were. Stepping up onto the gold-colored floor, I reached to the right of the door, looking for the wall. Only, there wasn't one. I had a pretty good idea of how big the inside of this box should be, and I was not hitting wall where there should be wall. Looking to the left, I saw a coat rack. I took another step forward and into the box in order to reach for the far left wall that had to be there.

The second I cleared the door, it slammed shut. Startled by the sudden sound, I whipped around. My heart leaped into my throat as I frantically pulled on the tiny knob on the back side of the doors, but they wouldn't budge. I pulled with everything I had. The knob rattled as I tried jiggling it back and forth, but it wouldn't turn. The doors were locked. I slapped the wood in frustration.

A loud thump resounded, and the whole room began to shake. A wheezing, groaning noise filled the air, and I felt my throat seize up. I started beating on the door.

"Let me out!" I finally managed to yell. "Help!"

There was a sudden, violent lurch, and I was thrown away from the doors. I flew backwards, arms pin wheeling out as I attempted to find my balance. I landed on my back and slid across the smooth, metallic floor. I rolled over onto my stomach as the room bounced. I got up to my hands and knees and crawled over to the staircase. I'd almost made it there when the room tilted, and I slid sideways into far right wall. Another bounce, and the room tilted the other way. Focusing on the staircase, I pushed off the wall and used the tilt to my advantage. Grabbing hold of the railing as I slid by, I hauled myself to my feet and wrapped my arms around the handrail. I put my head down and held on for dear life as the floor kept on shaking and bucking beneath my feet. The wheezing groan grew strained, and I heard an electrical fizzle from above. Sparks skittered across the floor, and the smell of burnt plastic filled the air.

There was a final metallic groan, and then the pitching stopped. The room seemed to stabilize. The wheezing groan still sounded, holding a steady rhythm. My inner ear was still telling me that the room was in motion, but it was no longer plagued with violent turbulence. Clenching the handrail, I dared to lift my head. Through the glass floor of the platform, I could see a faint, rapidly dissipating cloud of smoke, but everything still seemed to be in working order.

Keeping my eyes on the platform above, I cautiously let go of the railing. Spreading my legs wide apart to compensate for any unexpected pitching, I turned to look back towards the door. The windows to the outside were dark, but flashes of light occasionally came through. Like there was a thunderstorm raging outside. Except I couldn't hear any thunder. Glancing uncertainly back down at the railing, I tried to decide if it was worth leaving my anchor to see if I could get the doors unlocked. Looking back up at the doors, I decided to go for it. I took a deep breath and sprinted over to them. Once again, I tried the tiny knob, but it wouldn't turn.

Squinting at the windows, I tried standing up on my tiptoes to see out, but I was too short. I turned around and grabbed hold of a coatrack that I'd seen earlier, just to the left of the door. It was miraculously still in the same place as before, and I dragged it over towards the door. I stepped up onto its base and used the hooks higher up to pull myself up level with the windows. Through the thick, nearly opaque glass, I could see more flashes of light. Most were far ahead in the distance. Only the ones close by actually gave enough light to be seen in the room.

Leaning closer to the windows, I started to make out vague shapes. Amid the multicolored flashes of light, which somewhat resembled lightning, I could see that I was flying through some sort of tunnel. Well, it only vaguely resembled a tunnel. The walls kept shifting and changing. Like clouds. Sort of. Vaguely. No, it was completely different than clouds, but I had no other frame of reference. I'd never seen anything like this before. An arc of gold light abruptly sliced through the tunnel just in front of the doors, and the whole room shuddered and shook.

No, I realized, taking in the changing view out the windows and the reaction to the arc of light. Not just a room.

It's a ship.