Jungle of Creation

I jerk up from the white comforter screaming. Around me still oceans and a pair of green eyes watch silently as I struggle to catch my breath. Nemo creeps closer as I calm down, softly purring.

“Hey, buddy. Sorry about that,” I apologize as I stroke his back and hold him close. It’s been about a week since we left Brazil, returning to the comforts of home. You’d think the image would be out of my system by now, yet those glazed eyes surrounded by green blood still haunt my nightmares. Gone are the mysterious emerald ones, though. As if they have no more use for me. My thoughts struggle to stay away from the man, and I bitterly recall how I am the only one who believes in him.

After finding the poor soul, I ran back to the hotel sobbing. Dad and Lyla watched dumbfounded as I recounted the scene over and over again frantically. Apparently my dad, being a logical man, cannot bear to think that something as silly as green blood could possibly exist. He was concerned, of course, but not for the man. Before I knew it, Dad had called the company and apologized, saying we were going to head back to Florida early to allow me to rest. He even felt the need to explain the exact reason to them. They didn’t believe me either. I feel like an idiot.

But I know what I saw. The thought crosses my mind that I shouldn’t have been able to detect the light drips or the wavering smell at all. I had been miles away from the body. Yet I found it anyway.

Shrugging off the suspicious thoughts, I look over at my clock to see it is surprisingly late in the morning. Someone must have fed Nemo already if he didn’t wake me up. Dad is probably still trying to get on my good side again. Since we left Brazil, Dad has cooked dinner every night, fed Nemo, and even job searched in my place in order to make up for everything. It really is nice, but he still won’t believe me. I have a shift at a family friend’s coffee shop in an hour so I make my way off the bed. Throwing on a simple outfit and some sneakers, I skip breakfast and hurry to the front door. I am half outside when Dad catches me leaving, an awkward look painting his face.

“Good morning, darling,” He calls with a forced smile.

“Morning,” is all I can muster before I walk out with a firm frown. Hurrying down the sidewalk in front of the house, I attempt to hide the tension and hurt with a half-hearted smile. I turn to the right down a morning-lit alleyway to avoid the main road before showing up in front of Kristie’s Koffee.

“I’m here, Kristie!” I open the glass door and enter the quaint shop covered in bright yellows and blues. With no sight of her, I walk up to the register with various pastries and sandwiches, waiting for her to pop up.

“Amira!” I jump as Kristie appears behind me, cloaked in a bright smile and her wavy yellow hair. “Oh, sorry!” Kristie exclaims with a small, apologetic smile.

“Oh, it’s all right,” I assure her, not wanting to reveal how much she had scared me, “What can I do?” I move to a new topic, not wanting to waste any time.

“Well, first you can give me a hug!” Before I can protest, Kristie’s long arms scoop me into a warm embrace. “That’s better! We’re friends, after all. No need to be so formal. Now… About the work. Could you carry these to the back room and sort them out?”

“Of course.” Kristie hands me three open boxes, filled to the brim with various flavored syrups and creamers. Taking the boxes, I don’t miss the flash of sympathy in her summer blue eyes, but I turn away nonetheless. I carefully work over to the back room in the shop before setting the boxes down to open the door. Switching on the light, I go to the corner of the dusty space to sit and shelve the flavors. The job becomes monotonous after a few minutes, and I find myself not even thinking about the task. Kristie keeps me occupied by constantly bringing back new boxes, which I then empty on the metal racks lining the slate walls. I’ll have to remember to thank her for not bringing up everything. She may be a little much at times, but at least she knows when to give people a break.

For a split second I catch my distant gaze in one shelf and stare, breathless from what I see. My pure, untainted golden eyes are speckled with a green that has previously only been in my dreams. The bright forest green is hardly there, but stands out so violently against such a soft brown. I back up from the mirror, panting softly, and quickly bring my eyes back to the pile of boxes. Ignoring the fact that my dream eyes are haunting me even when I’m awake.

I leave as soon as all of the boxes are unpacked, the late afternoon sun now beating down. I don’t know why such a mundane thing as my eye color scares me so much. I mean, colored contacts are a thing, right? Although, I’m pretty people’s eyes don’t just decide when to change color… The only thing I can think of is that the dream eyes felt so real, and now I am afraid they are. I pass the corner by the coffee shop, squeezing my way between a woman with a stroller and a tall man leaning against a light post. I turn down the alleyway, keeping a steady pace, when paranoia causes me to look back. Only the brick buildings on either side and and trees along the road follow me. I swear silently, blaming my fright from earlier. I start up again, even faster now, when a man makes a noise deep in his throat. I whirl around to see the man on the light post from earlier now hovering behind me.

“So you’re the girl who found Charley.” He looks me up and down before taking a long, bold step closer. I follow with a step back, terrified by this man who came out of nowhere. He’s dressed simply in a black t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, dirty blonde hair underneath a baseball cap, and a bandanna tied around his palm. “Haha, a nervous one, huh?”

“Who are you?” I pause, scared out of my mind, “And who’s Charley?”

“Wow. You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” He eyes me with a wild grin before taking an exaggerated bow. “Okay, then. I can do with that. My name’s Cole, your name’s Amira, and Charley was my dead buddy that you found. Good enough for you?”

I hardly process what he says, focusing only on the fact that he knows who I am. “How do you know…”

“Your name? Oh, darling, you’re quite famous at the compound. In fact, that’s where I’m taking you right now. So, chop chop.” Don’t bet on it. My eyes widen and I stumble backwards before sprinting as fast as I can back home. Oh, I didn’t bring a phone! If I can just make it to Dad… The trees and streets blur around me as I instinctively make my way home. I spare a second to turn around, and see no sign of him chasing me. I actually made it! I race down my street, about to breathe a sigh of relief, when strong hands wrap around my neck. Where the hell did he come from?

“Ooh, you seem like a nice girl. I really didn’t want to do it like this.”

I don’t even register what he’s saying as my hands automatically go up to fight against his. He’s too strong and I’m left desperately scratching at him with my fingernails.

“Ow! Really?” He growls in pain as I notice the blood dripping from deep cuts in his hands where I was clawing with my… claws? Actual claws take the place of my fingernails, long, glossy, and sharp. I spend too long gaping at them, and Cole’s growls translate into a harder grip on my neck. I can feel my resistance leaving me as I struggle to draw breath. The air comes in low whistles, and I feel my hands falling from his. All I see is the bloody navy bandanna around his hand as the sky goes black.