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Eden

Credit for this story goes to sylviannebecker

The night was rough. My night's sleep was not peaceful at all, but when my eyes flutter open, the house is in its usual silence. My siblings are all probably downstairs, eating breakfast and watching cartoons. It's a Friday morning, but school doesn't start until nine thirty.
    I slowly make my way over to my dresser, and pull out some shorts and a t-shirt. Lately I haven't been able to sleep. Our new neighbors next door in our duplex stay up all night and sleep all day. The rest of my family just go to sleep in their soundproof Sleepwellz 2,000—a bed that has a roof basically. I'm claustrophobic, and the caskets (what they seem to resemble quite a bit to me) don't help things. I can't help but think I'll get trapped in there. It doesn't seem natural to me to sleep like that, so I don't use mine.

As I scrub my face in my bathroom, I stare at the kid in the mirror. A short, slender fifteen year old looks right back. I shake my head and send my pin straight blond hair into a frenzy, making me look like a dandelion. I calm it down a bit with my comb.
   On top of not getting enough sleep, I was not excited for school—I have a presentation to do about minerals, and I thought it was pretty good—except I'm not good at talking in front of people... I guess I'll have to figure it out.

I make my way down the hall to the staircase taking care to be quiet. You never know when Rory—my older brother—could pounce. Let's just say that he isn't the gentlest of creatures. He's a lot taller than me, and is a state champion for wrestling. I guess he likes to get his practice in...using me as his punching bag. That makes me think about the upcoming track season. I'm excited to start the new year of sprinting as a freshman. Rory may be strong, but I'm fast and graceful.
   Lost in my train of thought, my foot meets the creaky floorboard suddenly. The one everyone knows is there! And that's when I hear him. The monster aroused from his lair. I sprint down the stairs, nimbly avoiding the toy cars and dolls. I make it to the kitchen door just in time and press the button to slide it open.

The twins, Magnolia and Calvin, are sitting at the table in their potty seats—gross—eating toaster waffles. They're mesmerized by the talking elephant on the TV. Rory enters the room just behind me, his light brown hair tousled with that perfect jock-that-all-the-girls-want-to-be-with look. I've never been that guy—too pathetically small.

   "What's for breakfast?" he mumbles.

He asks that every morning, and every morning, PAM (Proficient Assisting Mother) helps the kids get breakfast and other morning things while Mom and Dad are plugged in. I look over and see my parents in their usual spot. In their computer stations, they're sitting with their headsets on, and monitors up around them. Mom is probably looking at recipes that she won't even make, and Dad is doing online work. He's an accountant for a business in the city.

   "Would you like toaster waffles or eggs for breakfast, Mr. Rory?" PAM's automated voice comes through the speakers in the walls. When my brother mumbles a response, the stove top turns on and all Rory has to do is put in the evaporated packet of eggs.

Wyatt, my nine year old brother, is already plugged in and most likely playing video games—he has his haptic suit on. I have a big family. There are seven kids and my parents, but we manage. There's Rory, who's a freshman in college now, Mavis, a senior, Bianca, a sophomore, me, Adam, a freshman in high school, and then there's the younger ones, Wyatt, and Magnolia and Calvin, my three year old twin siblings.

I fix myself cereal, and after wolfing it down, I plug in to finish my homework from earlier in the week. My tech pod is in the corner by the window, and even though it's the worst quality of all the pods, it's definitely the best because of the window. There are some real windows just to let in the meager sunlight, but this one is fake. That's because, frankly, the world is disgusting currently. I can see cool outdoorsy things through the fake window though—things that I've never been able to experience myself. My parents were young in the Green Ages, but they never talk about it much. Claim it was just the same as it is now. That the world has come a long way since then.
    At first, I look out the window to the real world, and the pathetic sun rays feel good on my skin. But, after a while, I change it to my favorite view. A lush, green, alive forest plays across the panels. The river running through the scene calms me, and for a second, I can feel myself being there. Being in the forest. Getting out. A deer runs across the screen, and fish jump in the water. The fake sunlight streams through the treetops down onto the forest floor, and the vivid green grass and fallen pine needles strewn across the ground seem so real.
My hand reaches out and touches the window, my eyes closed, and it's all I can do to pry my eyes away from the screen, and focus on my history paper I need to write.
     Minutes later, my monitors light up, indicating that Ms. Flanigan's geometry class is about to start. I enter the virtual classroom and my tall, praying mantis-like teacher appears at the desk in front of the bleak room.