Escaping Eden

Escaping Eden Chapter 1 I wake up screaming. Where am I? What’s going on? Why do I feel so cold? It’s dark. I look around, blinking sleep from my eyes. I notice a window somewhere in the back of the room. It’s open and moonlight shines through, casting a square beam of light across the floor. A breeze drifts in, and white curtains float like pale ghosts in the darkness. In the narrow light of the moon, I see that the carpet is burgundy. I also see the outlines of furniture. My head vaguely aching, I look at the shadows scattered messily across the room. I feel like sweeping them up to make room for light. I shake off the urge. Stop being delusional. There’s a funny smell in the air, like a mixture of old home mustiness and laboratory sterilization. I realize that I’m lying on the floor. Why am I not on the bed? The last thing I remember is pain. Maybe that’s why I woke up screaming. The pain was intense. The pain was… cold. I decide to swallow my fear. It tastes terrible. I stand up and my neck aches. As I rub my hand across it, my bones crack like I haven’t moved in a long time. I whisper to myself. “As Grandpa always said…” My train of thought rolls off into the distance. Where was I going with this? Who is “Grandpa”? I put my hand on my sweaty forehead. I must be tired. I look for a light switch by approaching the walls and groping around. By the time I run into a couple of pieces of furniture, I find a knob on the wall. I 1 smile. Bingo! I turn it, and watch the darkness dissipate, hunted by the glow of the light fixture in the ceiling. Funny… the room is actually more scary without the shadows. I scan my surroundings. It seems as though I’m in a throwback hotel room, with old furniture and floral wallpaper. I don’t remember coming here. I walk to the window, and peer out into the night. All I see below the full moon are treetops. The forest spreads into the distance like a carpet, with no trace of civilization to break up the darkened green. The woods look infinite. Why is this place in the middle of nowhere? My curiosity fades and fear returns. I close the windows carefully, trying not to make any sounds, as if someone can hear me, and take a few hesitant breaths. I should look around. So I turn around and place myself in the room. It’s a rectangle. A bed is near the light switch to my right. To my left is a couch under a deteriorating brass mirror. I notice myself in the mirror, and my appearance surprises me. My mid-length hair is a mixture of dark brown and light pink, a combination that I’m not very fond of. I carry myself stiffly, probably because I’m hurting. Since I’ve been sleeping, my hair and my clothes are tousled, and I’m wearing a strange jumpsuit, of a slippery white material. I look at my feet. Black buckle-up boots shine as I cock them to the side. I glance back to the mirror. Behind my dark pupils, I see a sort of foreboding, like I know something terrible has happened. I scold myself. I should focus. Along the wall opposite me, there’s a wooden desk and a Victorian chair… Maybe the desk has something in its drawers? 2 I scamper over to it, and throw myself onto my knees. I open each of the drawers fast, almost jolting them from their sockets. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I surprise myself with disappointment. Was I expecting something to be in here? I open the last drawer. Yes! A white envelope. My heart skips a beat. I touch the paper and pick it up gingerly, as if it were important. Who knows, maybe it is. I hear something. What’s that? I turn my head to the sound, and find myself staring directly at a large wooden door. Someone’s outside. I drop the letter. My curiosity drives me to the door. What do I think I’m doing, exploring a random place I woke up in? I sigh, pulling open the heavy old door by its brass handle, and step out. The first thing I see is the ground, with the same carpeting as in my room. I look up, to the left. A long hallway stretches before me, lit by a fixture in the ceiling around which about a dozen moths hover, seeking light and warmth. I gaze down the hallway and see ten identical doors. Ten rooms, I realize. Eleven rooms, counting mine. I look to my right to find an elegantly winding, white marble staircase. Everything is eerily silent. For a moment I think I see a flash of metal, low to the ground, by the stairs. I jump, and my right hand flies to my chest. Underneath my clothes and clammy skin, my heart rate is unusually high. Sweat trickles down my neck. I’m gonna have a heart attack. I follow the movement, walking carefully and silently, occasionally glancing behind me to make sure of… anything. I tip-toe down the marble staircase, into a small 3 lobby. This place definitely looks like a hotel. It’s dark but I can still make out the marble floor and the grandiose chandelier with electric candles and curling tendrils. It’s beautiful. I stand there, paralyzed, for a solid couple of minutes. Suddenly, the lights turn on. I trip off the last step of the stairwell, shocked. Who flipped the light switch?! As my eyes slowly adjust to the light, I hear footsteps. My heart starts pounding crazily and I look around, expecting to see something creepy. Something dashes out from behind the staircase, and I let out a pathetic yelp. “Hi!” exclaims a boy in a friendly manner, as if we know each other already. Taken aback, I don’t respond, and eye him warily. He’s just a kid, and he looks about my age, too. He could probably tell me where I am – he looks so sure of himself. He ambles toward me, and I start to relax, glad I’m not the only person in this strange, dark building. As the boy stands before me, I notice that his eyes are different colors. One is blue, the other is reddish-brown, like a cat I think I once saw. He speaks, breaking the silence I feel bizarrely accustomed to. “Looks pretty dark outside. Do you know what time it is?” He doesn’t seem as frightened as me. In fact, he looks somewhat amused. “Um… no…,” I answer. The boy laughs. I cherish the laughter, like I haven’t heard it in a long time. “What’s so funny?” I ask. “It’s the look on your face. Priceless.” 4 I decide that I don’t like Cat-Boy very much, and roll my eyes. I notice that his subtle freckles and red-brown eye match. He really does remind me of a feline. Maybe one of those striped ones… What are they called again? “I like your hair, by the way,” he mentions, perhaps sarcastically. I pause. Haven’t I seen that grin somewhere before? “Okay,” I reply. Cat-Boy leaks a comforting optimism. “You look like an… Ella?” he says. “No an… Eva? No… Hm. Do I know you? Never mind. What is your name?” I hesitate. Something about one of the names he suggested rings a bell in my mind. Ella? No… maybe Eva? I take a deep breath before telling him my name, then hesitate for what feels like forever. Hold on a sec… what’s my name again? I start to panic. What’s my name?! I realize I have no idea. I scramble through my thoughts. I know I had a name before… but I can’t remember a before. “I don’t know,” I answer slowly, stretching each word to stall for time, hoping my name will come back to me. “Me neither.” The boy’s smile disappears. Silence. “Where are we?” I wonder, looking around the hotel lobby. The boy shrugs. “Outside there’s just forest.” He pauses. “I did see a fox, though.” 5 I raise an eyebrow. “’How come you don’t know where we are but you’ve been spending time outside?” “I went on a walk around the building,” he explains. “Being in nature comforts me.” He chuckles. “I saw a fox, and I had the impression that it was talking to itself. It was weird, but it made me feel a little better.” I stare at the boy. Is this kid crazy? Don’t tell me I’m stuck with a lunatic. I decide to ignore his last statement, hoping that this time it is sarcasm. “Did you wake up here like I did?” I wonder. “Yes.” He nods reassuringly. “So you woke up here, too?” It’s my turn to nod. “Hello!” a high-pitched voice yells from the stairway. The boy and I jump in unison, startled. I swivel around. A little girl hops down the marble staircase, stopping in the middle. Watching from where she can clearly see both me and Cat-Boy, she waves in the slightly awkward way that little kids do, while clutching a pillow – twice her size – to her chest.

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