as a young sixteen year old girl in a pink paper gown ran down the hallway next to her, followed by a swarm of men in black uniforms with heavy rifles. The look on her face was so innocent, so surprised, and I wondered if she even knew what was going on behind the locked doors at the laboratory. Most likely not. I kept running. I burst out of the laboratory, assasins not far behind me, before realizing where I was. The mountain top looked down on a city, a city I had never seen before. Once again, my mind searched for a way to escape. I had no clue what kinds of abilities the experiment gave me, nor what kind of flaws it provided me with. There was no guarantee that I would survive if I jumped off of the cliff. There was no end to the possible ways I would be tortured if I turned back. The cliff was steep, an impossible climb, and I knew that they would kill me before I reached the bottom of the mountain. The footsteps were gaining ground, and I knew that I was running out of time. So I did the one thing any desperate sixteen year old experiment would do, I jumped. I hit literal rock bottom. I was alive, which was more than I could have hoped for, but the limits of my abilities prevented a smooth fall. I had hit the ground hard, and I struggled to regain my balance. My powers had slowed my fall, but did not soften the landing. In the more metaphoric terms of “hitting rock bottom,” I had no clue what my name was, where I was, or where I was going. The only thing I knew about my life were five names, five faces, and a memory of the ocean engraved in my mind. The one memory I had kept, the one that was not erased from my mind by the experiment. But I also knew that there were a million Carters, a million Skyes, and that I didn’t know where mine were. God, I didn’t even know if they were real! I mean, the doctors could have easily implanted that memory into my mind! The men looked down on me from the cliff high above, bewildered looks on their faces. I had no clue how long it would take for them to find me, and my only plan was to find out more about what little I remembered. I had very little confidence that I would be able to find out anything about my old life, yet it was my only hope, so I pushed myself up and began to trudge towards the city, whatever city it was. Occasionally in my sleep I would get flashbacks. Another name, another town, but I never remembered them, just that I would wake up, struggling to breathe, startled by something from a past life, a memory from when I was not locked up alone in a white room. That night I remembered one. Skye Hunter, 83 Blue Lane. I could remember a long road leading to the house I would go to almost every weekend, the last name of my best friend. I figured that was a start, that perhaps I could find the full address in a phone book somewhere, though I doubted this city was near my home town. As neared the outskirts of the city, I began to see people, cafes, possible places for me to find answers. I needed the internet. I had no clue what day of what month I was living in, or what city this was. I decided that I would have to keep walking, and hope that somewhere I would find answers. I wandered until I found a stand full of shirts that said “I heart NY” and “The Big Apple.” “So New York City,” I whispered to myself.
Literary Art Magazine Pierson Middle School Sag Harbor, New York May 13, 2019