Repurposing Time and All Else

How do I begin to express how disoriented I feel? This was much less demanding of a task when I was young and instead of jotting notes down in this black leather journal with specific intent, my outlet for teen angst was a locked diary coated in blue fur. Almost so much blue fur that it hid the face of the cartoon animal which inspired me to begin each entry with "dear panda friend."

The sensation of the sun on my skin and eyes is different from what I have always imagined. As it was described in the books I've read, the warmth is overwhelming. Many authors would compare the feeling to that of a "hug." I can't quite understand the reference considering I am almost fully convinced a "hug" is a fictional action dreamt up by the most imaginative writers. The warmth is comforting, as predicted, although after only a couple minutes admiring its beauty, I am scorned. My eyes fill with darkness and I fall to the ground. There, eyes still closed, fearful of a lasting impact, I stretch out my hands, pressing each finger deep into the sharply soft grass. Soon, I muster the courage to regain vision, reach behind me, and twist the latch shut, securing the divide between two worlds within the same. The finality of this act puts me in a reflective state of mind.

Much like Hades, who I know only from ancient, pre-apocalyptic history books, I spawned from the depths of the Earth. Before today, I had grown accustomed to life in the depths and accepted the sad reality that what I'd known of my own history and of the surface would be eternally limited. But being marked a high-risk individual has granted me the role of the observer or more accurately, the test subject, resulting in me potentially finding the answers I seek. What was intended as punishment has brought me immense freedom. Irregardless of the tragic circumstances which bring me here, I have been instructed to see if Earth is survivable because as of yesterday, the board began executions.

The air is indescribable. As I lay in this unbelievably green grass, experiencing all the surface has to offer, a slight breeze whisks by and knocks me into a deep sleep. Time escapes me. When I wake I hear a sharp whisper coming from an orchard behind me. Slowly I rise from my flower bed, drawn toward the sound.

I find myself comfortably lost wrapped up in mango tree skyscrapers. The sharp whisper leads me to another clearing where a waterfall takes the place of wildflowers. The sound is almost mechanical, maybe I'm not alone.

"Hello?" Announcing myself seems appropriate in case I do find people but everything I've read about the human race indicates that they might attack regardless. I continue, "I come in peace."

"What are you, extraterrestrial?" I think to myself, suddenly realizing just how far out of my element I am.

The clearing is completely exposed to me now. I can see a figure on a rose-shaped rock opposite the falls but I can't quite make it out. A few steps further and I can see the figure's kinky crown. I'm so close now that I know they've heard and seen me but they remain unbothered. Based on the way they are gently balanced on the rock I think maybe they're meditating but my view is clear now and they seem to be infatuated with an object.

"Hello," I say again helping myself to the shorter rock next to them.

They look up at me, smile, then turn back towards their hands and comense fidgeting. The sharp tap sounds again.

We sit in silence for a while in this simultaneously calm and bright energy they've created.

This time, they break the silence, "What do you think?" they raise the object over their lap then down to my eye-level. It looks like a watch so I ask, "is that a watch?"

They laugh, making their eyes even shinier and exposing their crooked teeth, "oh, is that what it is."

"It tells time." I look back at it, observing it's transformation and laugh realizing the functionality is gone, "but not anymore I guess."

I didn't understand why you would want to bend it and break it and paint it yellow but when they asked again, "so? What do you think?" I told them it was lovely.

"My name is Anne," I reach out my hand but it's left hanging.

They smile again, "Fern."

Fern leans over towards the diamond pool before us, reflective in it's beauty and fills a glass with what looks almost too clean to be water. They offer me another glass. As I accept it, I catch Fern focusing on my hand, clearly surprised by something but I'm not sure what.

I lean over to fill my glass and notice the pool floor shining belo. It seems like fairy dust reflecting the sun. I take a sip from my glass, eyes drifting up towards the sky. The trees are so tall that there are only a couple rays of light catching the water; not nearly enough for the floor to glow like it is. I lean over once more and dive my hands in deep. The crystal blue seal breaks and I cup the rocks below, then pull my hand back to me.

They feel slimy in my hand. I shirt my fist to hover over my lap then release much like a claw machine. My eyes widen, "Gold!" I shout, "Gold!" I look over at Fern and once more for emphasis sing "I found gold!"

I look down at my lap, this is worth thousands. How can Fern be so calm?

Fern smiles at me in the way you do a child when they say something like, "did you know that I can fly?" Fern looks up at the trees, back at me, then down to their project. I look up at the trees. I feel so small. I look down at the gold. I feel so tall.

"Come," Fern stands and extends their hand to me, "I want you to meet someone."

I quickly shove the gold in my cargo shorts and trace Fern's steps. I know we've reached the end of our trek because Fern stops humming and turns to me but we're still among the trees.

"Come," we circle one tree and it reveals a bamboo ladder. I lift my head until my neck can no longer extend. My eyes widen once more, "wow. This is beautiful." It’s a treehouse. One that could hold hundreds. It has levels and lights and music flowing from it. The chaotic harmony grows louder as we climb until we reach the top, then the music dies. Beautiful beings emerge from each doorway and smiling heads rush to greet us.

They all look so different from one another but share lanky limbs and glowing skin.

Fern leads me into a yellow home where someone is laying on the floor in the center of the room. Fern takes my hand and brings me to the bed where they lie. "Anne meet Willow, Willow, Anne." Willow takes my hands in hers. I can feel her warmth the same way I could feel Fern's brightness. "Look," Willow fixates on my hand, "she has the mark of the core."

"I know," Fern says smiling. It takes me a minute to process what is happening and because they see me get uncomfortable, Willow lifts their arm and shows me their mark.

"You're from the core?" I ask, voice slightly raised as if I've been lied to. "Are you all?" I gesture to the people outside who have reclaimed their chaotic harmony.

"I'm going to make us some food and let you two talk."

Willow urges me to pull up a chair and explains that the board sent them years ago for the same reason they've sent me but reasured me that they wouldn’t have stayed if overpopulation was as pressing as it is now.

"Isn't it magic?"

I nod, reaching into my pockets to reveal my treasure but they laugh just as Fern did.

As elegantly as they escaped, Fern sweeps back in humming to the beat, "ready to eat? I'm thinking burgers." Fern pulls nothing but plants from their bag and I stifle a laugh thinking, "vegans."

When I ask Willow why they stayed they tell me it was love. I don't beleive them. I look down at my gold, "they probably stayed for the rivers of gold." I wonder if they think that "love" being their answer makes them a better person than if they were to have mentioned handfuls of gold worth twenty-bands. I thought it made them sound foolish.

The room fills with a wonderful smell from Fern's cooking but I would never admit it. "I read that mango trees only grew up to a quarter of this size."

They both laugh and Fern says, "shes just like you were." Willow smiles in agreement then turns to me and tells me that those books were written about a different world, Willow looks down at my gold, "in a world where that holds more value than a mango." They both laugh again. I shove the rocks back in my pocket and ask, "so what has value in this world?"

Fern turns to me. "Everything. Just not more than the rest." "Well there is breath. Just like dancing breath is the result of life, of oxygen, music being oxygen." They point to their neighbors banging on drums, "music too."

Fern hands us each a plate but Willow sets theirs aside, "thanks love but I am not hungry."

For the first time I see Fern's eyes dim. They nod understandingly.

I take a bite. They’re both awaiting a response so I nod enthusiastically with my mouth full, offering up a rave review after swallowing. As we eat we absorb the sun and the music. Fern and Willow dance. They move to the music in a much less calculated way than we do back home.

Willow lays back down encouraging me to take their place. Willow laughs at my lack of rhythm, smiling in the sunlight until their eyes become heavy and fall. Fern kisses Willow then lays their head on their stomach, weeping softly.

I use to believe heartbreak was exclusive to those who allow themselves vulnerability. In my mind, the fault lay on the victim of toxicity because they failed to consider that people hurt people. If people weren't inherently evil, if their intention wasn't to inflict pain, I wondered, “why was there war?” As the saying goes, "fool me once, shame on you...twice, shame on me" though, properly revised It'd say "fool me, it's on me." Of couse, my understanding of human nature has since evolved.

I have come a long way. I have been persuaded into trying my first form of non-capsulated nourishment, what Fern calls a "Mega Burger." In the same breath I have seen death, and with that came loss, pain, heartbreak, all potentially avoidable without love. But love, I can’t unsee it.

I began to immerse myself in this new environment, and it wasn't long before the shocking truth revealed itself. I was entrusted with finding refuge for my people, and did. I thought I wanted to find a restored version of what was written in my books and instead found only the most beautiful part. These stories weren't written to teach little girls what the sun was, but what it felt like. These stories were collections of characters, yes, but not what they did, rather, what feelings provoked them to do it. These storytellers wanted to evoke emotion, mine and theirs. Life on the surface, as I've expirienced it, is that heartbreak, despite it's daunting name, is always worth the hurt because all we are is what we feel. Love, I've seen it! It holds more comfort than the sun.