Children of Eden: A Novel
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About this ebook
Rowan is a second child in a world where population control measures make her an outlaw, marked for death. She can never go to school, make friends, or get the eye implants that will mark her as a true member of Eden.
Outside of Eden, Earth is poisoned and dead. All animals and most plants have been destroyed by a man-made catastrophe. Long ago, the brilliant scientist Aaron Al-Baz saved a pocket of civilization by designing the EcoPanopticon, a massive computer program that hijacked all global technology and put it to use preserving the last vestiges of mankind. Humans will wait for thousands of years in Eden until the EcoPan heals the world.
As an illegal second child, Rowan has been hidden away from the ruthless Center government in her family’s compound for sixteen years. Now, desperate to see the world, she recklessly escapes for what she swears will be only one night of adventure. Though she finds an exotic world, and even a friend, the night leads to tragedy. Soon Rowan becomes a renegade on the run.
An instant #1 New York Times bestseller, Children of Eden is a thrilling and completely absorbing work from one of social media’s brightest young storytellers. Taking the genre of dystopian fiction far beyond where it has traveled before, viral sensation Joey Graceffa’s first novel introduces us to an empowering and endearing young protagonist and a world that contains as many perils as it does illuminating surprises, perfect for fans of the Divergent and Maze Runner series.
Editor's Note
Fast-paced & cutting…
Famous YouTube personality Joey Graceffa makes the transition from screen to page flawlessly, creating a fast-paced, cuttingly told story of secrets and rebellion, with a cute and progressive love triangle to boot.
Joey Graceffa
Joey Graceffa is a leading digital creator, actor, and producer, best known for his scripted and vlog work with YouTube. He is the author of the instant New York Times bestselling memoir In Real Life: My Journey to a Pixelated World and the bestselling novels Children of Eden and its sequel Elites of Eden. In 2013, he produced and starred in his own Kickstarter–funded supernatural series, Storytellers, for which he won a Streamy Award. In 2016, he debuted Escape the Night, a “surreality” competition series for YouTube Red that returned for a third season in the summer of 2018. Joey’s other interests include a proprietary accessories/home décor line called Crystal Wolf and supporting various nonprofit organizations for literacy, children’s health and wellness, and animal welfare. To learn more about the author, visit JoeyGraceffa.com.
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Reviews for Children of Eden
54 ratings6 reviews
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The concept of this book was intriguing and I really enjoyed it. The book left me wanting more, in a good way. I’m really intrigued by what this book world entails. I look forward to book two.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Earth and its ecosystems have been destroyed by humans. The humans that have survived now live in Eden, an oasis designed by Aaron Al-Baz, regarded as the savior of humankind. Everything in Eden is efficient, reused, recycled and highly regulated, even its citizens. At birth, everyone receives eye implants that track you as a citizen of Eden. However, with population control strictly enforced as one child per couple, Rowan, a younger twin, the second child, is hidden away inside her house. With no eye implants, she is unable to go out of her house for 16 years. Now, just as Rowan’s mother has found a way to integrate her into Eden, Rowan escapes the confines of her home and finds friends, adventure, a hidden world and a lot of danger.I am always intrigued by books with an environmental collapse since it is a very real possibility in our future. In this version, the Earth was slowly destroyed by humans, just as we are doing now. The hero in the story is shrouded in mystery, but Eden is working well and keeping people alive, unless you are a second child. I felt for Rowan’s plight and the unfairness of it all. There are some good parallels in here for strict population control measures that have taken place in the real world. I was very disappointed when Rowan almost loses it when she makes a stupid decision; however, this is when the action began to pick up. I enjoyed seeing Eden through her eyes and exploring the world that she had so far only heard about. Just when it seems that Rowan might be able to come out of hiding, everything seems to go wrong. Excitement, mystery and a daring thrill ride follow Rowan to the end where I was left on a ridiculous cliff hanger. A young adult dystopian that is different enough from others to stand out and deliver.This book was received for free in return for an honest review.
1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Pros: engaging story, feisty protagonistCons: fairly predictable, created swear words are more distracting than usefulFor Parents: non-graphic gun and knife violence, torture scenes, some kissing, fake swearingEden is a closed world created when humanity was on the brink of destruction to save at least a few people until the ruined world was again fit for habitation. Rowan is a second child, illegal in Eden. Hidden by her family, she’s finally going to get a new identity and eye implants that will let her become a part of society. But she’ll also have to leave her family - and never return or see them again. In a fit of anger, she climbs the walls of her family home and escapes to the outside world, for a few hours of freedom. What happens during those hours creates rippling consequences that haunt the days that follow.If you’ve read a lot of dystopian YA none of this will be particularly new to you. The story runs in fairly predictable ways. The characters are generally what makes these books different and Rowan is a wonderful protagonist. She’s willful and determined, scared when out of her depth but able to push past her fear. She causes a few of her own problems, so it’s a good thing she’s resilient. Making her bi, or at least uncertain about her sexuality (without making a big deal out of it) was wonderfully refreshing. I liked both Lark and Lachlan as supporting characters, though Lark’s got my vote if the story develops more of a romance in later books.The story is quick and engaging. The world is well constructed. I thought it clever that there’s a fair amount of pre-Eden history but no Eden history. It gives the author options for the following books and I’m curious what he’ll do.I found the created swear words rather distracting and unnecessary. Instead of coming off as expletives, they confused me and bumped me out of the narrative.There’s a fair bit of violence including two torture scenes. Nothing is particularly graphic, and most of the violence has either a detached sense to it or is accompanied by the protagonist questioning the need for it and how the world should be better than this. There are a few kisses, but no other sexual content.While this isn’t highly original, it is a fun, quick read that will have you turning pages. It’s set-up for a series, and leaves you interested in the world and what’s going to happen next to the characters.
- Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5This started out pretty interesting. I enjoyed the main character's relationship to her family and the new emerging friendship. When the action got started, though, everything quickly fell apart. Motivations were strained or forgotten completely, action became haphazard.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Set in a future world, where the one-child policy is strictly enforced, Rowan is the "2nd" child. Her very existence must be kept secret. Of course, she is uncovered and, on the lam, encounters a secret society of other outcast "seconds." Interior dialog is well rendered. Everything else, including the plot, setting, and the characters seem cliched, to this reader. Nothing objectionable, just meh.
1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5I honestly don’t know how I would feel about this. And does “progressive love triangle “ mean so kind of gay love or a black person likes a white person? Bc I honestly just don’t really like gay romance
Book preview
Children of Eden - Joey Graceffa
GIVE ME MORE!
I insist, pounding my fist on the gleaming steel of the outdoor dining table. Above us, the stars glimmer through the nanoparticle haze that keeps us safe from the ruined atmosphere. Across the table from me, my brother Ash’s eyes twinkle.
The priests say our ancestors ruined the planet that way, Rowan. More, more, always more, until the Earth couldn’t give any more and she died.
He grins. He’s teasing me, I know, but I see the secret shudder that always makes his body tremble when he thinks of the Ecofail. He is an avid temple-goer, and spends hours on his knees in penance for the acts of our ancestors. Not that it does much good. The atmosphere is as broken as ever, the world is dead, and only the tender care of the EcoPanopticon keeps us alive now. Praying will never make a tree grow in this world again. The Earth is dead, but we still survive.
Of course, I’ve never been to temple. Maybe if I had I wouldn’t be such a cynic. But then, I haven’t been anywhere in the last sixteen years. At least, not officially. You see, I don’t exist.
I might as well be a figment of my twin brother’s imagination. If I were, I think he would have gone inside and fallen asleep long ago. Figments are easier to shake than I am. Ash knows I never give up. Through long habit—and Mom’s insistence—he is used to devoting a good chunk of every day to my persistent questions.
For a girl who doesn’t exist, I can be a pain in the neck. Or so Ash tells me almost every day.
I smile wickedly at my brother. More!
I tell him again. When he hesitates, I spring on him, toppling him backward. The chair thuds on the thick carpet of moss that my mother so carefully maintains. Ash tries to roll out of the way, but we’re the same height, and much to his embarrassment I’m a little bit stronger than he is. More!
I shout as I pin him down. Tell me more!
I begin to tickle him, and he squirms until we are both near hysterical.
That’s enough,
comes the gentle voice of our mother from the veranda. Do you want the neighbors to hear?
That quiets us quickly. Even though there is almost no chance of our laughter penetrating the high, thick stone walls around my family’s compound, it would be a disaster if anyone knew I was here. Oh, Mom could probably pass the girlish laughter off as coming from one of Ash’s visiting friends—even though we almost never have visitors. (When we do, I have to run to one of the many hidden nooks and walled-off secret chambers my parents have improvised all through the house.) But there is always the chance some nosy neighbor will check the regional scans and put two and two together. That would be the end of me. Literally.
I help Ash to his feet and sit down across from him. In a more decorous voice I do what I do every day: I beg him to tell me more about the world outside the family compound. I’m not just hungry for all the experiences I’m missing out on. I’m starving. Ravenous.
What did Lark wear today when she changed out of her school uniform?
Lark is the girl my brother has a crush on, and I’m fascinated with her. The way he describes her makes her seem so real to me, almost as if she were my friend, too. Almost as if I were a real person. I know that if we ever met, we’d be instantly close.
Every afternoon when Ash comes home I quiz him about every detail of his day. Academics I learn on my own from vids and datablocks. I’m more interested in the people. The tiniest details enrapture me. Did your Environmental History professor flirt with the headmaster today? Did the autoloop attendant smile when she scanned your eyes on the way to school? Did Brook chew his lavercakes with his mouth open again? These are the friends I will never have, and I love them all.
Unfortunately, Ash isn’t always good at the details I crave. When I ask what Lark wore, he only says, Er, something yellow.
Bright yellow? Pale yellow?
I press eagerly. Lemon or buttercup or sunshine?
Of course, no one has seen lemons or buttercups since before the Ecofail.
I dunno, just kind of medium yellow, I guess.
A dress?
Er . . .
I fling myself dramatically back in the chair. Ugh, you’re useless!
Ash, bless him, can never quite understand how all those things that are so trivial to him can mean the world to me. He does his best, he really does. But it’s never good enough. Between the two of us we’re trying to build a shadow life for a shadow girl. I have to be ready for the glorious day I will finally emerge into the light. If that day ever comes. Mom and Dad always assure me it will, someday. Sixteen years of assurances later, someday still hasn’t arrived.
I look at my brother as he struggles to recall the details of his day so I can feel like I am a part of the real world. He is my mirror, almost exactly like me. He has the same night-dark hair, the strong chin softened by a dimple, the light bronze skin. He’s told me that he doesn’t like his face, that his features are too delicate for a boy. Maybe, if I knew more of the world, I’d think my face was too strong for a girl.
Our main difference is in our jaws, I think. In both of us they are sharply angled and strong. But when Ash worries about something, he works his jaw like he’s chewing on the problem, like it’s a tough nut he’s trying to crack. (I learned about nuts in an Environmental History vid. Food, growing on trees—can you imagine?)
Me, when I’m upset my jaw gets tight and still. I just clench my teeth until the muscles in my cheeks ache.
Been clenching my jaw a lot lately.
There are two other obvious differences between us, other than our gender, of course. Ash’s eyes are a flat reflective blue-gray, like our mother’s. Mine are a strange, shifting color that seems to alternate from green to blue to gold, depending on the light. When I look closely in a mirror, I can see a starburst of amber in the middle of the blue, flecks and streaks like meteors shooting across an azure sky.
My eyes would give me away in a heartbeat, if anyone ever saw them. Soon after birth, children have their eyes corrected with lens implants. This is because human eyes have evolved to withstand exposure to certain wavelengths of light. Now that the atmosphere is damaged, we’re exposed to increased low-band ultraviolet radiation, which can harm untreated eyes. The surgery implants a filter that protects everyone’s eyes from the rays. It takes a long time to cause damage, but if someone doesn’t get the surgery they will eventually go blind. I haven’t noticed any damage yet, but I’m told around thirty my vision will start to dim. The filter is coded to identify every resident of Eden with a quick scan.
Of course, I couldn’t have the surgery, so my eyes are still their natural color. Sometimes when Ash looks at me too long I see him blink and shake his head, and I know that they unnerve him. My father, whose own eyes are dead brown like a wall, can hardly look at me.
The other difference between Ash and me wouldn’t be apparent to anyone. He’s older than me. Only by about ten minutes, but that’s enough. It means that he is the official, legal child: the firstborn. I am the shameful second child who never should have come into this world at all.
Ash goes inside to finish his homework. My lessons, assigned by Mom and closely paralleling Ash’s, were done hours before he even came home. Now, as the night deepens, I begin to pace restlessly around the courtyard. We live in one of the inner circles, just beyond the Center, because my parents are both in the government. It’s a huge house, much bigger than we need. But whenever Dad talks about selling it, or dividing it into parcels to lease, Mom shuts him down. It’s her house, inherited from her parents. Unlike most buildings in Eden, ours is made of stone. When I put my hands on it, I can almost feel the Earth breathing against me. It’s alive, somehow. More alive, anyway, than the metal and concrete and solar cells that comprise the other buildings in Eden. These stones have been in dirt, I think. Real dirt, with worms, and roots, and life. None of us in Eden has experienced such natural circumstances.
The moss that carpets the walled courtyard is alive, but it isn’t a real plant. It doesn’t need dirt. It doesn’t have roots, only threadlike anchors that help it cling to rock. It doesn’t take its nutrients from the ground, but from the air. Like everything in Eden, it is separate from the Earth. Still, it is growing, living, and as my feet pace along its carpeted softness a sharp, fresh smell rises to meet my nose. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine I’m in one of the forests that died almost two hundred years ago.
As chief archivist in the Central Records Division, Mom has access to the oldest records, the ones from before the Ecofail. My datablock lessons only have graphic illustrations of the way things used to be, but Mom told me that in the secret chambers of the archives there are images—ancient and crumbling—of tigers and lambs and palm trees and meadows full of wildflowers. They are so old and precious that they are kept in a static-free room and handled only with gloves.
She gave me one. She could have gotten locked up for doing so, but the photo would probably never be missed, and she thought I deserved something special, for my years in captivity. One day when she was going through the records she found an undocumented image of a night sky over a great chasm. Tucked behind another document, it was labeled with a date immediately before the Ecofail.
The stars don’t look like anything I’ve ever seen. There are thousands of them, swimming in a milky sea, and beneath them I can make out the contours of trees clinging to the rocky ridge. It is a vastness I can scarcely comprehend. Eden is big, but I can bisect the city in an autoloop in half a day.
The ancient, folded image my mother smuggled out for me shows a world. The World, in fact. It is my most precious possession.
Because my mother has seen such things, she cherishes living organisms even more than most. The majority of households, Ash tells me, make do with cheerful, neon-green turf and plasticized trees. But Mom prefers to get as close as possible to the real thing, even if it isn’t as pretty. Besides the moss, we have chunks of rock covered in white and pink lichens. A creeping black slime mold coils its way up an abstract sculpture. And at the center of the courtyard is a shallow pool where red and green sheets of algae swirl continuously in an artificial current.
Mine is a luxurious house, large and comfortable. But a large, comfortable prison is still a prison.
I know that I shouldn’t think of it that way. Home should be thought of as a sanctuary, and the alternative to having a home is too horrible to even consider. But all the same, I can’t shake my sense of entrapment.
With so many lonely hours to fill, I’ve learned to schedule my days tightly. Empty time leads to daydreaming, and daydreams are dangerous for a person in my position. Schoolwork, art, and exercise are all arranged in regular sequence so I don’t have too much time to yearn for what I can’t have.
Right now, it’s too dark to draw or paint, and I feel as though I’ve read every book in the database. So I run.
In the dim starlight I can just make out the faint path where I run miles every day. The moss is resilient—that’s why it is one of the few kinds of vegetation that survived the Ecofail—but even it loses its spring under the onslaught of my feet.
As I run, the steady hypnotic pounding centers me. I can feel the blood start to move more quickly through my veins. When I push my body I feel alive. Alive, when almost all of the world is dead. But what good is it to be alive when I’m trapped?
Frustrated, I run faster, taking the corners of the courtyard hard enough to kick up bits of moss. Mom will be mad, but I don’t care. I am madder. Furious. Just because of some stupid law, I’m hidden away behind walls, a pariah who will be slaughtered or enslaved if I’m ever discovered.
Movement usually makes me feel better, but tonight it is torment. I am so sick of running in this same rectangle, clockwise, then counterclockwise. With a cry of frustration I begin to zigzag, sprinting faster and faster, jumping over the lichen-covered rocks, the chairs, leaping to the tabletop and springing off again.
All at once, I feel like I can’t breathe. The high walls seem to close in on me, like a giant mouth about to crush me with stony teeth. I dash one way, then the other, crashing into the walls, pounding them with my fists, almost snarling in bitter frustration. I know I’m spinning out of control, but I can’t help myself. Most of the time I’m somber, regulated, content. But sometimes, for reasons I don’t quite understand, I become enraged at my situation.
It’s the strangest thing, but what bothers me most is that Ash couldn’t describe Lark’s outfit. It’s so stupid, so trivial, but it gnaws at me that, with all his privileges and freedom, he couldn’t bother to take note of the one thing that mattered to me. Why does that little detail matter so much? I don’t understand it. Ash does the best he can, and it can’t be easy having to give up most of his social life so he can regale his secret sister with stories about the outside world. He must resent me sometimes.
Yet tonight, I resent him, and that makes me feel guilty, and even madder. At myself. At the Center and its laws that took everything away from me. Even at the EcoPan that keeps us all alive. I have to get away from these walls. I have to break free!
With an animal gasp of relief I begin to climb a wall, digging my fingers into the handholds I know so well, jamming my toes into crevices where the mortar has crumbled. I climb these walls as part of the physical conditioning my mother insists on. Almost every night I would pull myself up to the top, some thirty feet above the ground, and slyly peer over the edge.
Tonight, that isn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
Without so much as a moment’s hesitation I fling a leg over the rough stones and sit straddling the wall, one leg imprisoned, the other free. No one will see me; no one will look up. I’m feeling reckless as I gaze out at Eden stretched before me, its concentric circles looking like some strange glyph carved into the land.
Instead of trees, tall spires of algae protein synthesizers jut hundreds of feet above the highest building. The vibrant circles just beyond the Center are lit with bioluminescence that shows off the abundant greenery that carpets the city. Most of the city is equipped with artificial photosynthesis, engineered to act almost as real plants and convert the carbon dioxide we exhale into breathable oxygen. Some of it is like what Mom cultivates in our courtyard—hardy mosses and fungi, decorative algae swirling in liquid mediums. Even in the near-dark it is a green city.
If I didn’t know better, I might be fooled into thinking that it is a thriving ecosystem instead of an artificial survival pod. What isn’t green, glitters. Unlike our stone house, most buildings are made of polymers and coated in either clear or reflective photovoltaic panels that convert sunlight into energy to power our city. In the daylight, Eden shines like a giant emerald. At night, it looks more like a huge green eye, darkly bright with hidden secrets.
Past the rings of the luxurious inner circles comes the less elegant outer circle. Here in the inner circles, where we live just beyond the Center, the houses are large and fine. Nearer the boundary, though, houses grow smaller, more tightly packed. No one would ever starve in Eden—the EcoPanopticon makes sure of that—but from what Mom and Ash told me, life is not nearly as comfortable near the boundary as it is here, near the Center.
Even at this height I can’t begin to see as far as the boundary of Eden, but I know from my lessons what lies there. Desert, burning and merciless. And beyond that, a wasteland far worse.
Compared to my courtyard, Eden is an infinity. It is so big, and I’m so small! The city teems with people. I’m just a particle in that cosmos of humanity. All my life I’ve only ever met three people. The idea of meeting anyone new frankly terrifies me even more than the very real possibility of being caught. Strangers seem like dangerous animals.
But in a world without life, I would risk being torn and rendered by fearsome fangs just for the chance to see a real live tiger up close. I would give anything, even my own life, to experience what I’ve been missing out on.
I’ve thought about going out so many times. There are days when I think of nothing else, when the lure of freedom consumes my thoughts and I can’t draw, or study, or run. Now, tonight more than ever before, as I think about that one detail about Lark’s outfit and how Ash doesn’t know it and I don’t know it and I may never know it, Eden seems to call me with its strongest voice yet, and though I’m terrified, I swing my other leg over the edge of the wall—my elation overpowering my terror.
AS I POISE on the precipice between safety and freedom, about to descend into the unknown, I hear a small sound: the melodious chime of three notes that announces someone is at our front door. Bikk! I curse under my breath. I freeze, and the air around me is suddenly cold. Did someone see me? Is it the Greenshirts coming for me? I try to steady my breathing. It’s probably just a delivery, or maybe a messenger from the hospital, come to fetch my father for an emergency surgery.
Then Ash creeps into the courtyard. I see him look around, quickly, then when he doesn’t immediately spot me, again more slowly. I whistle softly, a bird call I heard on a vid, and he looks up.
You have to hide!
he hisses urgently. He has a Center uniform on!
My eyes fly open wide, and for a moment I feel like I’m pinned to the wall, immobile and helpless.
Hurry!
Ash says, and even from up here I can tell he’s panicking. It’s only because I climb this wall every day that I can make my way down so fast. Even so, I push out and let myself drop the last few feet, landing in a light crouch.
Who is it?
I ask as we sprint together to the house. He only shrugs, and I hear a rasping sound as my brother breathes. Nerves and even this small amount of running are making his lungs act up.
You have to go straight for your inhaler,
I insist, suddenly more worried about him than myself.
He slows down, but shakes his head. Gotta . . . get you safe,
he gasps.
No!
I say too loudly. "I’ll be fine. But if you code out I won’t be fine. Can you make it upstairs by yourself?" His breathing is ragged. These attacks, mostly brought on by stress, come only rarely. But every time it happens I’m sure I’m going to lose my brother. I force my face to stay calm, because I know that any kind of worry will only make him worse at this point.
He nods, not wanting to waste his breath on speaking.
Okay, then. You go, and I’ll use the wall hideout.
There are four hiding places in our large and sprawling house. The best of them, a small cellar, has a trapdoor that has to be closed from above and then concealed under a carpet and heavy chair. Next best is a secret recess in the wall behind a bookcase that looks immovable but can swing out on pneumatic gliders. Unfortunately, that mechanism has a design flaw in that it has to be operated from the outside. So both of those depend on someone outside to seal me in (and release me again).
That means I have to go either up to the attic—which is spacious and comfortable but also one of the first places someone would search—or into an insufferably narrow space between two walls. The gap, no more than a foot and a half wide, used to hold some kind of ventilation system that was modernized and moved at some point in the house’s history. Now only the old air vent remains, and serves as an access port to a place that is so uncomfortable it makes torture sound like fun.
Ash is gasping now. I take his arm and guide him to the foot of the stairs that lead to his room. Our room, really. I have a bedroom of sorts, but there’s nothing of my own in it. It’s a guest room, which I make up every morning just as if no one has slept there in weeks. If anyone ever came to inspect the house, they’d find nothing more than a neat, generic bedroom waiting for a visitor.
For everything other than sleeping, Ash and I have more or less shared a room since childhood. Shared everything, really. Any personal possessions I have are in Ash’s bedroom, hidden among his things. And they all look like things a boy might have. I can’t have too many possessions of my own. Imagine if someone came in and found a bedroom with dresses, and holoposters of shirtless pop stars and all the other things other girls probably have in their rooms. Dead giveaway. Ash and I even share most of our clothes.
I don’t want to let Ash go. He feels my hold on his arm tighten, sees the fear in my eyes I can’t quite hide. I’m hardly even thinking about the unexpected visitor. You go hide,
he says in a raspy whisper. I can make it.
I’m not sure he’s right, but I don’t have any more time to spare. I hear the quiet whine of the front door sliding open, and then the murmur of unfamiliar voices. With a final worried glance at Ash hauling himself up the stairs, I whirl and run for the closest sanctuary, hoping I’ll be in time.
I have to crawl backwards on my belly through the low ventilation access door into an impossibly cramped space. If I go forward, I won’t be able to close the door myself. I have only about an inch of clearance on either side. As I snap the door shut, I remember that I was running on moss, climbing on rocks just a moment before. Did I leave any telltale marks on the floor outside my hiding place? Too late to check now. I slither backwards on my elbows and toes, an inch at a time, for several feet, until I reach the place where the crevice opens up enough for me to stand.
It’s a little better here, but not much. Unlike my other hiding spots, this one isn’t built for any kind of comfort. It’s an emergency bolt-hole. We run periodic drills, Mom timing me, to make sure I can access all four of my hiding places quickly. But I’ve never had to use this one before. It’s the last resort.
I have room to stand, and that’s about it. Each time I breathe, my chest and back press against the plaster of the wall. It smells odd in here, stale and close. I’ve gotten used to having a limited life, but this is a little extreme. My vista ends about three inches away from my eyes.
But I’m safe, hidden away. Just in time. I hear an unfamiliar voice coming nearer. I’m surprised I can hear it so clearly. The walls must be thinner than I thought. For a crazy second I think about knocking on the wall, sending a mysterious message like an unseen spirit. Mom has told me ghost stories, gleaned from records in the archives. In the days of ignorance, people believed in all kinds of things. I don’t believe the old tales, though I’ve always liked hearing them. But if Ash is right, this is a Center official. They’re known for having zero patience with superstition