Jungle of Creation

Light filters in through the window on the far side of a hotel room I vaguely remember entering. In the frenzy to get ready for bed I had failed to see the clean whites and grays of the walls, along with the small frames on them, containing little slices of the rainforest and the city of Manaus. The beds are centered on one wall of the room, while a television rests across from them, and to the left of that is a wall dedicated to bright windows. I sit up on the bed, the sheets sticking to my legs from the comforting heat in the night. Lyla and Dad have already started getting ready, Lyla with all but her t-shirt on, and Dad in the bathroom off to the side. I hear the shower running, so I decide to check out the view while waiting to get cleaned up myself. Bare feet padding across the carpet, I walk over to look out the big windows. The view nearly stops me in my tracks. Surrounding the hotel are more trees than I could ever imagine. Some are bright and blooming, while others have leaves so green a Leprechaun would be proud. Together, the trees become a collage of different colors so mysterious, so mesmerizing, that I don’t notice Dad coming out of the bathroom.

“Amira, you want to shower, right?” I rip my eyes from the beautiful forest to see Dad standing by the bed, damp brown curls falling in his eyes.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks,” I reply and move from the window to the bathroom, grabbing some clothes from my bag on the way. Entering the bathroom, I turn on the water and strip down before jumping into the hot stream. I scrub off some of the fatigue from yesterday, closing my eyes and letting the water rush over my face. That’s better, I think as I remember those strange eyes that kept haunting me. I hop out of the shower and stand in front of the wide mirror as I get dressed. I pull on the new tank top and shorts I grabbed before wiping my hand over the steam-covered mirror. Now that I can actually see in it, I bunch up my wet hair into my hands and pull it into a bun. Staring for a moment, I see the sharp lines of my cheekbones, the fullness of my lips, the complements of my gold-brown eyes against my caramel skin. Of course I have noticed how much I resemble her, but, in this moment, it stands out so much more. I grab my old clothes and exit out of the bathroom, making my way to the door where my tennis shoes lie waiting.

“Good, you’re ready,” Dad addresses me as I come out of the room, all set with his own t-shirt and shorts and his wet hair now slicked back, “We’re gonna walk around town for a bit before I have to come back here and do a little research.”

“Alright. Sounds good to me.”

“Yay! This is going to be so much fun!” Lyla bounds around the room while her curls fly wildly in her face. I can’t help the amused grin that creeps into my mouth and eyes as she appears so much younger than she is. She may be almost thirteen, but she doesn’t look it.

“Yeah, let’s go so Lyla can work off some of this energy.” She proceeds to shoot me a painful glare before breaking into another fit of giggles.

Before long, we’ve made it past the white and red lobby again, finally entering the streets of Brazil. As we walk along the side of the road, watching for tourists speeding by, we come across more and more Brazilian shops. The streets are lined with businesses and homes of every shape and color, the muted blues, pinks, and oranges striking against the pavement. It’s a rainbow of buildings that you don’t see on the outskirts of Deerfield.

“This place is so cool!” I watch as Lyla spins in circles, catching every detail. Diving further into the city, we begin to pass street vendors selling any food from tapioca to the traditional fish, jaraqui. We pass by a market filled with fresh papayas and avocados along with lots of other produce and fish. Deciding to take a look, we walk down the aisles and aisles of fruits and vegetables, eyeing each bright, juicy one. Dad ends up handing us a couple Brazilian reals—the country’s currency—from his pocket, which we take to buy three mangoes for breakfast. As I stand in the market, I take a bite from the mango and the juice explodes in my mouth, sending ripples of sweet and sour simultaneously.

“Yum. It’s really good,” I say to Dad between mouthfuls. I had never had fruit I liked better.

“Yeah, it is,” Lyla agrees as she continues to stuff more in her face. We all decide to stand to the side of the beautiful chaos of the buzzing market while eating. As Dad finishes his, he looks down at his watch and swears silently.

“Sorry, girls. I wish I could stay longer, but I promised the company I would call them from the hotel in ten minutes.”

I look up at Dad, disappointed that the outing was cut so short, “It’s okay. We’ll get along just fine.”

“Yeah, yeah! There was this fish thing I wanted to try, and there’s a museum up the road we can go to!” Lyla’s joy getting the best of her again, she begins to shiver in anticipation. Dad’s lips waver before twisting down into a frown.

“No, I’m sorry, baby. We’re in a foreign country, and I would feel better to have you with me. We can look around again later.” Slowly, Lyla’s eyes begin to shine, and I can see the wheels that were turning in her head come to a screeching stop.

“But, Dad! I’m almost thirteen, and what about Amira? Doesn’t she have to go back?”

“Honey, Amira is twenty years old and is more than capable of taking care of herself. I’d just rather watch you myself… No offense, Mi.”

“None taken, Dad.” I knew I would be fine watching her, but no one could help Dad’s suspicions, so I just let it be. “It’ll be fine, Lyla. There’ll be time to do everything later.”

“Ok, fine.” Although she clearly was not happy about it, Lyla turned to give me a hug and then walked off hand in hand with Dad. Too bad. I guess I’ll just explore on my own… I take another look around the crowded marketplace before making my way down the street. Now alone, I can feel the eyes of locals planted on me, maybe worried I’ll cause trouble. I just ignore the stares and keep walking at a fast pace, heading who knows where. Just as I’m about to head back to the hotel, I feel something pulling me in the opposite direction, like a magnet. Probably just the breeze picking up. I look behind me to see the treeline of the rain forest nearby. The trees growing up into the sky, before collapsing onto one another, forming a green line that blocks out some of the blue. Despite any better judgement I may have, I start toward the jungle. There is something almost familiar about it. The green of the trees is as sharp as an emerald, and eerily reminds me of a certain set of eyes. Comforting. I make my way to the edge of the rain forest, the vines and damp earth awaiting me.

This is a bad idea.

Of course it is! Why are you going here?

I don’t know.

I don’t know, yet I begin to walk through the dirt anyway. Step after step I notice more of the jungle wildlife. Vines growing this way and that across moss-covered tree trunks. Mushrooms sprouting at the base of the trees, while gnats and mosquitoes buzz around my face. I look up to see a canopy of trees covering all but a small hole of sky, which highlights a bird as it flies noisily overhead. So many noises. Birds cawing, wind howling, cicadas chirping. Dripping. Apart from the normal jungle sounds, I hear it.. There is a distant, steady drip, drip, drip hanging in the air. I strain my ears to hear it louder, and catch a whiff of something metallic instead. No. That smells a lot like… I turn around in a circle, all the while trying to figure out where that darn noise is coming from. Finally it amplifies in my ears enough for me to vaguely decide it is coming from the left. I take off towards it at a run, sprinting through the forest, leaping over logs and brambles with agility I never knew I had. As I draw closer to the noise, I draw closer to the smell. It grows in intensity until the only sensation my brain can process is that infernal, unbearable smell of blood. The rain forest fades around me and all that is left is me and the blood. Until I stop. Panting, out of breath, I bend down clutching my knees. When I eventually look up, I wish I hadn’t.

Right in front of me, plain as day, is a tall, middle-aged man with dark hair sprawled across the forest floor. His poor glazed eyes are still open but any emotions that were in them are long gone. I look around to notice the source of the dripping. The man is collapsed across a pile of leaves, and his open mouth is allowing blood to come out in droplets onto them, by now forming a sticky puddle. The blood. The sickening, milky green blood. It’s all over him, as if he exploded, yet his lifeless body still remains intact. It’s horrifying. Staring at the gruesome scene, I notice something on the other side of his body. Over to the side of the corpse lies an empty shattered syringe. Carefully coming closer and leaning down as far as I dare, I notice a faded red stain on the glass, probably more blood. It can’t be the man’s blood because his is green. Unless maybe he cut himself before whatever happened to him. Still, I remember hearing that blood stains easily, so whoever’s blood it is tried to clean it off and didn’t do a very good job. There’s not anything to test, though, and even if there was I don’t know how. Oh God. I’m not a detective! What am I doing? I shouldn’t be here! My thoughts scream at me and I quickly step back from the man and the syringe, and turn to go. I start walking, walking, running away. Trying to get as far away as possible. I run for as long as I can before I break down, the smell never leaving my nose. The constant drip, drip, drip in my ear. I stop running and kneel on the ground, nails digging into the dampness. Long, sharp nails. I can’t take it. I can’t.

I bury my head in my hands and cry.