Fifteen seconds to violet

Victor regarded the electronic card around his neck thoughtfully, the numbers rising the tiniest fraction by the second. The bar almost looked like it wasn’t moving at all, if he didn’t look long enough.

It wouldn’t be long until his number reached critical levels, according to the radiation card, but he’s been resetting his numbers illegally for months now, so the numbers at this point hold little meaning. So far, he has felt fine. Energized, even. Every single cell in his body felt electric, and he was beginning to like the feeling.

To keep up appearances, he still wore his protective vest dutifully as he worked, making small marks in his small black notebook. It was only a formality; he has taken to committing his observations to memory. Today, the prism was changing colors again, from blue to green to red, before transforming to his favorite: a rich, deep violet. It went through this rotation every day, like clockwork, and by this point he could predict the change down to the second. He wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but he had theories, oh did he have his theories.

He glanced at the second hand of his watch.

Fifteen seconds to violet. Fourteen... thirteen... twelve... eleven...

"Victor?" Natalia's voice called through the speakers, from beyond the glass partition. "What are you doing?"

Victor chewed his lower lip in annoyance. He did not have time to humor Natalia right now. He was fond of her, truly he was, but today was not the day. She had what he would describe as a "relentlessly positive" disposition. A half smile permanently fixed on her heart-shaped face, paired with a soft, lilting voice. She both fascinated and irritated him simultaneously, and today his feelings were closer to the latter.

Five...four...three...

"Have you lost your mind? You need to get out of there!" Natalia's tinny voice crinkled through the speakers. A bright white light started flashing through the room, like a strobe, signaling the emergency alarm had been triggered.

Two...

"Victor!"

One.

---

Dying took exactly another forty-five seconds.

Blood was the color of freshly bloomed violets, the searing skin smelled of burnt lavender and agar.

Throughout the process Victor had seemingly random thoughts flit through his brain, with one recurring character: Natalia. She always smelled of lavender, didn't she? It was her shampoo, or that bottle she kept at her desk, was it hand cream? She had chronically dry hands, Victor suddenly remembered, from working with radium, of course. The cream helped.

He coughed up a mist of purple dust.

No, no. It was peonies. The cream's scent was peonies.

The transformation was painful. Then again, that was to be expected. That was what Victor's advisor always told him, back in the day, when he was a young doctoral student, full of hopeful idealism and shameless ambition. To truly change one must destroy the old self, the esteemed Dr. Keehma preached. One must die.

Natalia always thought that was a bit extreme. Victor didn't. It was one of their recurring arguments. It became a sort of ritual, their friendly debates, late night diatribes over boxes of old Chinese food, Natalia illustrating her points with a wave of a chopstick.

It was this particular thought that brought Victor back into the sea of violet, hazy images of spring peonies and wonton noodles at the edges of his vision, a half-smile forming on his bluish lips.

He did it. He finally did it. He was now the purest form of energy. A burning, glowing, radiating ball of light. A successful metamorphosis.

It was sad, really, that as he passed he didn't notice the small humanoid shadow clinging to the remnants of his white coat. The figure of a woman with a heart shaped face, who once smelled of peonies.