In Fear of Eve

Eden. That was the first thing she thought of as soon as her eyes blinked open. The second thing she noticed was the cold. The third was that she couldn’t breathe. Where am I? Panic set in. She sat up quickly, the cold forgotten. Her black hair was drenched and matted against her head, her fair skin covered in cold sweat. The cold seemed to seep into her bones but all she could feel was the heat of her brain going into overdrive. It took her a few minutes to gather her bearings. She’s sitting down on hard ground, and she could feel pine needles digging into her jeans. Her breath billowed out clouds of smoke against the cold, frigid air. The grey skies only added to the growing confusion. Who am I? She stood up, her neck craning to look around her. Trees. Pine trees. Grey skies. Silence. A twig snapped. She gasped and whipped her head to the sound. “A rabbit.” She breathed. The fluffy, grey fur rustled as beady black eyes stared back. And just as soon as it had come, it ran away. She briefly wondered if it knew exactly where it was or even knew its own name. Suddenly, she was jealous of a rabbit. Who am I? She looked down at what she was wearing. Jeans, t-shirt, and a jacket. All in black. Her hands dug inside the jean’s pockets, hoping to find something. Nothing. She tried the jacket. The left pocket was empty. She let out a huff but wasted no time checking the right. She froze. There was a piece of paper. She took it out. Trembling hands opened the pristinely folded message. She could feel and hear her heart pound against her rib cage. The blood drained from her face. Fear clawed at her throat and distorted her face into horror as she read each word. Welcome, 78. You have 24 hrs to run. “Seventy-eight?” She muttered. Her hand trembled as something familiar crept up her chest. Somehow, she knew what this letter was about. She knew what it was about, and that’s why she’s this terrified. Something sinister quietly laughed, and she didn’t know if it was from a memory or a hallucination of the writer of this letter. Those words felt so familiar, even more familiar than her own name. She didn’t remember the details, but she knew she had to run. She didn’t know how she got here, who she was, where she was from, or if she even existed in the first place. All she knew was that she had to run. And she did.