Hope in Paradise

by Elizabeth Kirby

  “Time to leave, I suppose?” she asked.

  Silence.

  She sighed and began up the steps, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her before she went inside. She nodded and sat down on the steps. Cynthia pointed out the stars, but her companion didn’t respond.

  Finally, she stopped and turned.

  “Homesick?” she asked.

  “I should ask you the same thing.”

  Cynthia offered a cheerless smile, and turned back to the sky. “Not likely,” she said after a while.

  Maria looked surprised by that. “Why not?” she asked. “Do you not have anyone left? Someone, somewhere out there?”

  “Of course I do…” She gazed up at the stars, tears forming in her eyes. She had to hide them now, or else…. “Who doesn’t?”

  Maria looked at the stars. “I wonder…”

  A long silence.

  Cynthia hastily wiped at her eyes and stood. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be going now—”

  “Wait! Be careful, all right?” Maria said.

  “I will. You don’t have to worry about that,” Cynthia replied, and she felt the pressure ease.

  She opened the door and walked inside.

  Night: the time of sleep. Dreams chased her again. Memories of a better, carefree life. Unsuspecting, innocent dreams. Until they changed, morphing into ravaging nightmares that haunted her. She thrashed in the void.

  Darkness cocooned her. Terror beyond imagination. One might wonder why she allowed it to crowd her thoughts. During the days, she was fine. Happy, even. To her other roommates, she was normal.

  Not one person ever suspected a thing.

  “Maria!” she called. “Bring the tablecloth a little to the right this time!” She pointed at Honey. “You! Get the tea boiling, we don’t have much time left!”

  Commanding, still, even now.

  Finally she was satisfied. “All set!” Cheers erupted from her small band of misfits. Cynthia laughed and mimed wiping sweat off of her brow.

  “Let’s eat!” Maria exclaimed.

  They tore into their meals.

  “Have you always been interested in astronomy?” Honey asked as he held up a book.

  “Not until recently, I suppose,” Cynthia replied, scrubbing cleaned dishes and setting them onto the rack to dry.

  “Why now?” he asked.

  “None of your business,” Maria cut him off as she dried the dishes and put them away.

  “Anything else I should know?” he inquired.

  “Nothing that I can think of—”

  A jolt of pain. She writhed in agony. Dishes crashed to the floor, shattering. Tears from the pain fell from her cheeks onto the tiled floor.

  She fell.

  “Alex!” a voice cried from far away.

  “We’ll both be late if you don’t hurry!” A second voice. Cynthia quickly swung her legs from the branches of the apple tree and landed on top of him. His features were blurry, like a ghost. Did she, in fact, truly know him, or was it all an illusion, a trick?

  A tree, one quite unlike those of her friend’s orchard. His features sharpened. She was just on the cusp of remembering his name, but it escaped her again. She felt the brisk wind from the mountains, and heard another voice. More insistent than the boy in front of her.

  “Alex, wake up!” it cried. She felt someone shaking her. “Wake up!”

  “Si…mon….”

  That was it! That was his name! How could she forget him? She opened her eyes and the tree was gone. She was in bed.

  She felt herself being lifted up, and she spotted a chair next to her bed.

  “How long have I been out?” Her words slurred.

  “Only a few hours,” someone replied. “They thought you were dying! Young people, I’ll say!”

  “‘They?’” she asked. Her mind was still spinning. She turned her head and saw an older man sat near her bed, sporting a white lab coat. He was probably a doctor. Why had they brought her here?

  “Your friends sitting over there!” the doctor replied, pointing at a bench on the opposite wall.

  “I’m not that sick,” she reassured the man. “Just a slight spell is all.”

  “Spell?” he laughed. “Who uses that word anymore?” He stood and walked over to her. “Hopefully you didn’t hit your head too hard, did you?”

  Cynthia shook her head.

  “Well,” he stuck out his hand. “I’m Doctor Thatcher, in case you hadn’t already noticed.”

  She shook his hand, then called to her friends. “Hey, you’re slacking! Come here already!”

  Her voice jolted them from their daze, and they were with her as fast as they could get there. Their eyes were puffy and red, like they had been crying.

  “Stop that already!” she ordered. “I’m not dead yet!”

  “You said yet,” Honey pointed out.

  Cynthia growled at him, and he jumped back. She laughed at him and Maria nearly squeezed the life out of her with an embrace.

  “Hey,” she choked out, “I’m not going anywhere, so you can let go.”

  Maria let her go, albeit reluctantly, and they both smiled at her.

  They shadowed her for weeks after that, studying her, waiting for her next “spell,” if it ever came. After four weeks of that, they gave up. Maria told her that she should be grateful. But be grateful to whom?

  Everyone relaxed as another month came and went.

  Cynthia closed her eyes in delight. No more chores, assignments, or anything remotely similar. She could finally relax. But even on vacation, her mind was uneasy, as if she had forgotten something. It was a tug, urging her to remember.

  “What day is it?” she asked Maria.

  “Friday.” Maria was suspicious. “Why?”

  “Just a question,” Cynthia replied.

  “Huh.”

  Cynthia turned her attention to the calendar on the wall.

  Friday…. She found the current month.

  “Number?” she asked.

  Maria glanced at her watch. “The eleventh.”

  Eleventh…. March eleventh…. Cynthia held her finger on the date. Now why…?

  Her eyes widened and she grabbed a basket from the windowsill.

  “Where are you going this time?” Maria wanted to know. “Another arrangement?”

  “This time?” Cynthia hastily tied her shoes and stood up to go. “What do you mean?”

  Maria waved it away.

  She was just out the door when it clicked.

  “Where’s the nearest orchard?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Park, I mean.” She corrected herself. It was still so easy to forget.

  “Go out the door, three blocks down, turn left, and you’ll see it on the right.”

  “Thank you!” Cynthia replied, and she was out the door in an instant.

  “No problem…” Maria said to the empty room.

  Cynthia pushed past the oncoming traffic with ease. She almost forgot again! What would he say if he saw her like this? She gripped the basket tighter. The flowers were probably wilted by now, but they could still be of some use. If she could find the right tree….

  She sprinted into the park and scanned the area. Blurs of forestry passed before her, then one caught her eye.

  There!

  Her sprint slowed to a casual walk; there was no need to hurry now. The clear, blue sky overhead began to cloud with moisture. Cold air filled the passages. It would rain soon.

  When she got to the base of the towering maple, she put the basket down and sat next to it on the grass. She reached in and her hand closed on…

  … a flower.

  She smiled at the great tree, twirling the flower in her fingers. Its violet petals were very similar to artisans, but those flowers were long since gone from that world.

  At least, that’s what she had hoped.

  Otherwise…that would mean something, wouldn’t it?

  It would mean….

  Cynthia stood
and walked over to the trunk. She gingerly placed the delicate flower at the base of the tree. The cloudy sky opened and droplets of water raced down the leaves, falling to the ground at an increasing rate.

  Plink… plink… plink…

  She sat under the maple until she was drenched. Then, she dug into the soft earth and buried the flower. She stood and walked away.

  Stay safe, Simon.

  Stay safe.

  Chapter X

  Visitor

  Kicking stones was his only pastime on this planet. When he wasn’t working in the shop, building Genesis, or running errands for customers, he was walking along the cobblestone roads, kicking away loose pebbles. It was a silly way of passing unproductive time, but it kept him busy. Kept him from thinking too much.

  He looked up towards the crimson sky shrouded with steely clouds. Days like today, when the clouds covered the light-blue star that was the world, elated him. He looked down for a stone to kick, and found himself in a pool of the same red liquid. His eyes widened.

  He screamed.

  He shut down, hid inside himself from the world, this reality. When he opened his eyes again, the skies were cobalt, and the cobble under his boots was dry. Tears of joy fell down his face.

  It was only a dream.

  Simon breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the tears from his eyes. It was only a dream, he reassured himself. It was only a dream.

  It was only his imagination, surely? Only his imagination could have conjured up such a…nightmare.

  Simon shook the doubts from his head and he kicked a pebble off of the road, sending it flying through the air for a few brief seconds.

  He had nothing to fear. Not now. Not today. Not ever.

  Months had passed since she visited, but everything was working soundly without her. She was off becoming what she truly wanted to be. He didn’t blame her, not at all. In fact, the only thing that he wondered about was whether she remembered his birthday.

  Simon thought about it, and chuckled nervously to himself.

  Hopefully she didn’t.

  He sifted through the mountains of paper on his desk, and smiled at the possibilities ahead of him. If he could just find a pilot, all of his problems would be solved. His vision blurred, and he rubbed at his tired eyes. Several sleepless nights could do that to a person. He still had piles of paper to sift through: jobs, bills, and schematics for upcoming projects. He stretched, and went back to work.

  Midday. Time for a break. The piles of paper had diminished slightly, thanks to the “unimportant” things he had thrown away. He grabbed a notebook and scribbled a new to-do list. Metal, check. Screws and bolts, check. Food…

  He glanced at the refrigerator. Check.

  Simon got up and worked his way through the shop to the door. The floor was littered things left by customers (who were no doubt just leaving their useless junk in his store). After all, he was a mechanic. Why not send him all their old clutter? He was on pins and needles here, what with the floor becoming a minefield. Heading toward the door, he carefully zig-zagged his way across the room.

  The shop would be fine for a while longer, at least.

  Azure skies. Flowers swaying in a breeze. Trees lifted their limbs to the sky. Days passed, and he didn’t notice.

  The shop’s door creaked as customers came and went.

  All the while, his yard quietly recovered from the damage it suffered.

  Spring.

  Business was slow over these months. Barely any customers came at all. “Preparing for the festival,” they told him.

  Typical.

  Since his piloting endeavor nothing had worked properly. His fine-motor skills and vision had diminished greatly, causing him to lose clients, all because of his overdue assignments. Even though he had only piloted it once.

  Unsuccessfully, at that.

  Of course, he knew it must have been some kind of side-effect or backlash from Genesis. It had to be. It couldn’t have had been anything else, but…

  If it continued on like this any longer, who knew what would happen? Simon laughed at himself.

  Look at me, he scolded himself. I’m worrying over a simple accident. I—

  He stumbled on the pavement. Flecks of amber appeared in his iris. His vision blurred, and a searing pain overtook him.

  Simon fell to his knees, clutching his head in agony. Dark spots obscured his vision. He rolled to the side and curled up until the pain subsided.

  When he could see, Simon sat up cautiously and pushed himself up from the street. He found his hands sticky with blood.

  I have to keep moving.

  He began shuffling back to the shop.

  I have to keep moving.

  By the time Simon reached his home, exhaustion had taken root. His legs felt stiff. His eyes drooped and he struggled to stay awake. Cold sweat drenched him. What should have been a routine stroll was now grueling exercise. So, Simon sat on the bottom step and stayed there. Dreary, sunken eyes lazily gazed out at the dipping star. Its colors moved like a mirage, blending together with the impending darkness.

  Village children played in the cobblestone streets. They laughed, and his eyes fluttered open. He closed them when the lamps flickered on at dusk.

  He woke to a deafening pop. He squinted at the flurry of lights in the dark sky. He sat up from the cold step, wincing. The festival had already begun. How long had he been out? A flash of color caught his eye.

  He smiled weakly. Everywhere he went, something still seemed to amaze him. A fireball overhead dazzled the night sky and faded, leaving only the lamps to illuminate the streets.

  The night was cold. Icicles had formed on eaves, and they fell to the ground, shattering on the cobblestone. Simon shivered and tried to stand.

  No use. His legs buckled under him, and he landed with a thump. His stiff muscles protested. No, he was most certainly not ready to stand again. The bitter cold sent a chill down his spine. If he didn’t get inside soon, he would die of hypothermia.

  His breath frosted in the air; it wouldn’t be long now. He watched a shower of sparkles raining down, signaling the festival’s finale. It was supposed to be a spectacular event this year. He wasn’t the least bit saddened by missing the festival: he usually didn’t attend anyhow. Just seeing the fireworks was enough. It was enough….

  In the blink of an eye, the world became a tundra. The temperature dropped drastically, and Simon tried to pull himself up the steps. His body was numb, and his eyes were nearly crusted over with ice. This is definitely not a night to be outside, he thought.

  He struggled to stand again, but just like before, it was useless.

  Figures as much, he thought groggily. I’m still not used to this place. Here am I, caught out in this freak blizzard, and I can’t even move a muscle! Here I am…

  “Hello?” a muffled voice called to him.

  Simon opened his eyes, and immediately shut them when sunlight blinded him. Was it morning already?

  “I’ll be right out,” he said, and he opened his eyes again. A shadow loomed over him, blocking out the sun entirely. He warily looked past the shadow—shops and houses, cobblestone streets.

  He wasn’t dead!

  But who was this person standing over him?

  He tried to rise but all he accomplished was sitting up on the steps. He had a dull headache, but his vision had cleared and he saw a girl was casting the shadow. Waist-length blonde hair tied with a pink bow that swayed in the breeze. A navy coat over a fluffy, light blue dress. Equally blue flats tapped the cobblestone impatiently.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  It was a rhythm.

  What was she doing here? A new customer, perhaps?

  “Hello, are you all right?” she asked.

  She had to be in her early teens.

  “Yes… I’m fine.”

  “Good, then!” She held out her hand to him. He tentatively accepted, and she pulled him up.

  “So,” Simon asked her, “what are you doing here anyway?
Do you need a repair?”

  She shook her head. “I’m looking for someone,” she said. She clasped her hands behind her back and asked, “Do you know Alexandria Wood?”

  “Alexandria…Wood?”

  Simon nearly laughed. He’d gotten so used to calling Cynthia by her middle name that he had nearly forgotten her first one. But why did this person want her? Certainly, neither of them had seen this girl before, but…

  What harm could come of telling her?

  “Yes, I know her, but how do you? And for starters, what’s your name?”

  “My name?” she looked confused. “Oh! My name. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Amelia Davis. I know Ms. Wood because of my father’s occupation. I’ve come to find her so that I can be a pilot.”

  Lengthy speech there, Ms. Davis. Simon thought as her words sank in. All right, then.

  “I’m too late again, aren’t I?”

  “Again?” he asked, puzzled.

  “I met you two before, on a ship when I was small.” She fiddled with her dress. “Was I wrong?”

  Ship? What was she—

  That noise when he had dragged Cynthia inside, the hissing of the doors, the singing. Was that her?

  “You’re that girl who walked in—”

  Amelia nodded and interrupted, “And you must be William Black, right?”

  How did she know his name? How had she seen them?

  “Yes, I am,” he replied.

  “So, you’re her friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you must know where she is?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  This was….

  “She left a few months ago. Sorry, but you’re too late.” Again.

  “Oh.”

  Silence.

  The wind swept by, stirring a whirlwind of leaves. The girl looked like a statue, just standing there, thinking.

  “Then I’ll join you instead!” she decided.

  Huh?

  “I don’t need a mechanic—”

  “A pilot. P-i-l-o-t!”

  “You don’t need to spell it out!” he said. “Listen, you’re too young,” he tried to reason with her.

  “I am fourteen, for your information.”