Status: If you loved Hunger Games, Delirium, Unwind, Divergent or Uglies give this a read
The Athena Project
Chapter 2 Unimaginable Paradise
Chapter 2 Unimaginable Paradise
“What is your idea of paradise?”
They always ask questions like these at our yearly interviews. I sit in a stuffy room with my mental health doctor and the three founders so they can all ask me odd questions and jot frantically in their notepads. As if what I say is significant.
They stare at me, expectantly. Tic. Tic. Tic.
Paradise.
I scan my memories for flickers of the deep satisfaction stuff paradise is made of. What elements would I stitch together to make my paradise? I enjoy learning in the brain labs, I have fun dancing at the Aphrodite Lounge…wine definitely hits my pleasure center. And yet-
“It’s unimaginable.” I state simply. They look perplexed. “Explain.” Cynthia says in her commanding tone, casting a sideways frown at Vicky.
“It is beyond me. Beyond what I have experienced.”
“She doesn’t understand the question. Let me give you an example. My paradise,” Vicky reaches for Cynthia’s wrinkly hand, “Is wherever Cynthia is.”
“Where you would be perfectly and completely happy,” encourages Tara, searching my face with her striking blue eyes. Although they have conducted hundreds of these tedious interviews, the three founders sizzle with passion and excitement. I glance from one to the other, captivated by their elderly elegance and regal confidence.
“I have not yet found my paradise. Paradise is…still out of my reach.”
“Dr. Z, does your patient often experience feelings of discontentment?” Cynthia asks as though I’m no longer in the room. They turn to pour over my files, and I mentally check out. I know my statistics are good. I’m not worried.
I suppose I’m not perfectly and completely happy either.
Oh, when I was younger I was content with my life. Absolutely. I was care free. I'd roam around filled with energy and feeling safe. I was friends with everyone my age, respectful to all those who helped care for me, attentive to the experts, and in awe of the founders. I soaked up all the available information and it filled me for a long time.
Cynthia took a special interest in my learning. One day, I must have been about 13 at the time, after we had all finished eating in the Great Hall she found me there and asked to accompany me to the brain labs. I was elated, of course. That kind of attention from one of the founders gave me status and made me feel important. I showed her what I was learning from the experts, projects I was thinking of starting, and curiosities I had about the human brain. She remained aloof, as she always was, but before she left she looked at me intensely and said, "I'm proud of you Emerald." Those words still make me glow. But they have faded with time.
Portia grinned from ear to ear when I told her what Cynthia had said. I have always been Portia's favorite, I know it and she knows it, though she is not supposed to favor any of us but treat us equally, as all the older ones do. She often tells me things she likes about me. "I like your spunk," she'd say most often. She used to tell me stories sometimes, about adventures she had in the forest. I liked spending time with her just as much as spending time with friends my own age like Midnight and Infinity. Between the three of them my days were as filled with laughter and playful banter as they were with learning.
But as I've aged the boredom and claustrophobia have seeped through the little cracks inside me. I no longer feel safe, I feel stifled. I feel empty. I suppose it has been happening for a long time now, little by little the gems of the past lose their luster, and there is nothing new to take their place. There is nothing new at all.
Summer 2007
“Would you like to hear a story, Emerald?” Portia asked. She had just put a bandage on my knee after I’d fallen out of a tree. I wasn’t crying. Just mad at the tree. My face was all scrunched up in a sour look. I knew she was just trying to distract me, but I could never resist a story.
“Fine.” I harrumphed.
“It just so happens that I knew a little one who was an adventurer just like you.” She tickled my tummy and poked my scrunched up nose with her finger. “She loved nothing more than to wander around the woods. She would follow the birds, pick flowers and find pretty stones. But one day she found something quite different.”
My eyes filled with intrigue and I leaned closer, whispering “What did she find?”
“She had wandered farther into the woods than she had ever gone before. She caught sight of the most curious thing-a perfect little swing, hanging in the middle of the forest. It was the most beautiful swing she had ever seen,” she paused, “What else was she supposed to do?” I grinned. “She hopped on and pumped her legs as hard as she could until she went higher and higher. She could almost touch the clouds when she heard a small voice. ‘What are you doing on my swing?’ The small voice said. She looked and saw a little forest creature-almost like her, but different. ‘I’m swinging, of course.’ She replied to the creature. ‘Do you want to see my fort?’ it asked. She had never seen a fort, but her curiosity lead her to follow the creature to the secret hideout high up in a willow tree. I decided right there that I would be friends with the creature. “
“You mean she.”
“What?”
“You said I decided. You mean she decided.”
“She. Of course. “Her gaze shifted as if looking far away. “And she was friends with the creature. They would play together every day-building forts, swinging on swings, climbing anything and everything.” She chuckled, then turned serious. “Until one day somebody asked where she went each day, and she told them. The next time she went to the forest, and every time after that, she found only an empty swing.”
“That’s a sad story,” I complained.
“Yes. I suppose it is.” And with that she left to do what she did, and I went to find my friends.
“What is your idea of paradise?”
They always ask questions like these at our yearly interviews. I sit in a stuffy room with my mental health doctor and the three founders so they can all ask me odd questions and jot frantically in their notepads. As if what I say is significant.
They stare at me, expectantly. Tic. Tic. Tic.
Paradise.
I scan my memories for flickers of the deep satisfaction stuff paradise is made of. What elements would I stitch together to make my paradise? I enjoy learning in the brain labs, I have fun dancing at the Aphrodite Lounge…wine definitely hits my pleasure center. And yet-
“It’s unimaginable.” I state simply. They look perplexed. “Explain.” Cynthia says in her commanding tone, casting a sideways frown at Vicky.
“It is beyond me. Beyond what I have experienced.”
“She doesn’t understand the question. Let me give you an example. My paradise,” Vicky reaches for Cynthia’s wrinkly hand, “Is wherever Cynthia is.”
“Where you would be perfectly and completely happy,” encourages Tara, searching my face with her striking blue eyes. Although they have conducted hundreds of these tedious interviews, the three founders sizzle with passion and excitement. I glance from one to the other, captivated by their elderly elegance and regal confidence.
“I have not yet found my paradise. Paradise is…still out of my reach.”
“Dr. Z, does your patient often experience feelings of discontentment?” Cynthia asks as though I’m no longer in the room. They turn to pour over my files, and I mentally check out. I know my statistics are good. I’m not worried.
I suppose I’m not perfectly and completely happy either.
Oh, when I was younger I was content with my life. Absolutely. I was care free. I'd roam around filled with energy and feeling safe. I was friends with everyone my age, respectful to all those who helped care for me, attentive to the experts, and in awe of the founders. I soaked up all the available information and it filled me for a long time.
Cynthia took a special interest in my learning. One day, I must have been about 13 at the time, after we had all finished eating in the Great Hall she found me there and asked to accompany me to the brain labs. I was elated, of course. That kind of attention from one of the founders gave me status and made me feel important. I showed her what I was learning from the experts, projects I was thinking of starting, and curiosities I had about the human brain. She remained aloof, as she always was, but before she left she looked at me intensely and said, "I'm proud of you Emerald." Those words still make me glow. But they have faded with time.
Portia grinned from ear to ear when I told her what Cynthia had said. I have always been Portia's favorite, I know it and she knows it, though she is not supposed to favor any of us but treat us equally, as all the older ones do. She often tells me things she likes about me. "I like your spunk," she'd say most often. She used to tell me stories sometimes, about adventures she had in the forest. I liked spending time with her just as much as spending time with friends my own age like Midnight and Infinity. Between the three of them my days were as filled with laughter and playful banter as they were with learning.
But as I've aged the boredom and claustrophobia have seeped through the little cracks inside me. I no longer feel safe, I feel stifled. I feel empty. I suppose it has been happening for a long time now, little by little the gems of the past lose their luster, and there is nothing new to take their place. There is nothing new at all.
Summer 2007
“Would you like to hear a story, Emerald?” Portia asked. She had just put a bandage on my knee after I’d fallen out of a tree. I wasn’t crying. Just mad at the tree. My face was all scrunched up in a sour look. I knew she was just trying to distract me, but I could never resist a story.
“Fine.” I harrumphed.
“It just so happens that I knew a little one who was an adventurer just like you.” She tickled my tummy and poked my scrunched up nose with her finger. “She loved nothing more than to wander around the woods. She would follow the birds, pick flowers and find pretty stones. But one day she found something quite different.”
My eyes filled with intrigue and I leaned closer, whispering “What did she find?”
“She had wandered farther into the woods than she had ever gone before. She caught sight of the most curious thing-a perfect little swing, hanging in the middle of the forest. It was the most beautiful swing she had ever seen,” she paused, “What else was she supposed to do?” I grinned. “She hopped on and pumped her legs as hard as she could until she went higher and higher. She could almost touch the clouds when she heard a small voice. ‘What are you doing on my swing?’ The small voice said. She looked and saw a little forest creature-almost like her, but different. ‘I’m swinging, of course.’ She replied to the creature. ‘Do you want to see my fort?’ it asked. She had never seen a fort, but her curiosity lead her to follow the creature to the secret hideout high up in a willow tree. I decided right there that I would be friends with the creature. “
“You mean she.”
“What?”
“You said I decided. You mean she decided.”
“She. Of course. “Her gaze shifted as if looking far away. “And she was friends with the creature. They would play together every day-building forts, swinging on swings, climbing anything and everything.” She chuckled, then turned serious. “Until one day somebody asked where she went each day, and she told them. The next time she went to the forest, and every time after that, she found only an empty swing.”
“That’s a sad story,” I complained.
“Yes. I suppose it is.” And with that she left to do what she did, and I went to find my friends.