The Orange Island

Chapter 2.

There was a house on the island and it was the only human thing in that place. Mrs. God never explained why that house existed. However, she encouraged me to figure things out on my own. Let's say that if she were a mother, she would be one of the most neglected on the planet. To be honest, I sometimes felt that she didn't care about my bodily integrity.

By then she had gotten to know some of the fauna and flora of the island. It really was one of the craziest and most meaningless places I had ever known, I was struck by how exorbitant my imagination could be. The island was plagued by what, in my grandfather's book of myths, they called "chimeras." And, according to me, you could find everything from a cabbage dog to giant things like ice cream jaguars and elephants with a wheel for legs. In general, all those beings behaved like Mrs. God with me: I mean, everyone here couldn't care less. So this world consisted of me, a slow-legged, hyperactive-thinking girl, and the world around me.

Could something go wrong? "Know the ball."

Ah! I forgot to mention, here was something that remained the same as the human world and those were none other than cats. But not even the strange animal-plants that should have paid attention to me really did, much less the cats to whom I contributed nothing to their lives.

In short, it was less useful than my Mother's Day crafts.

So there I was: Generic girl, without any notable features, with 120 centimeters of pure ignorance trying to enter the house on the island. Maybe it was the tons of American TV in my brain. Maybe it was my repressed desire to be rich. Call it crab. However, the island house was sumptuous as a movie house. A two-story house, with six chimneys and twenty front windows. The house was on top of a cliff, then only the sea remained. To get to the door you had to cross a small rock brick bridge, under which a trickle of water passed. As soon as I touched the steps of the main entrance, everything was filled with a dense fog.

-Hello? -I knocked on the carved wooden door. The door just opened and I remembered the dozens of times horror movies started like this. But I was not a simple American movie protagonist, but I was dreaming and I was a Third World girl, my neighborhood was more dangerous than this. Besides, this could end the way I wanted, right?

Upon entering, the first thing I saw was a staircase with an old iron handrail. The place smelled like old newspaper. Paintings that are usually found in cookie boxes lined the walls. The ceiling was so high that I couldn't even see the tiles. Everything was an yellowish color: The wood, the beige wall, the pictures, the Island sand floors. I advanced fearfully with my head raised, trying to let my eyes absorb all the information possible: The gold candelabras on the shelves, the pendulum clock made of silky dark wood, even the curtains had balls with fringes of a thread that, if my mother were here, she certainly wouldn't let me touch anything. But since she was alone, I used the curtain balls as accessories for my hair.

-How are you, sir? -I said to the curtain- What do you like my hairstyle? Huhuhu. I brought the accessories because I have traveled to a faraway place.

I waited for the curtain to answer me politely while I preened my hair with the tassels hanging one on each side of my ears.

-From a place called Sorodia hehehehehe. -I responded to the curtain's supposed question. -Where is? Well...

After an extensive conversation with the curtain, I went up the spiral stairs. There were strange paintings and the mist became increasingly dense. I walked slowly and something in my stomach began to bother me. I didn't like the feeling of being here. Every room in the house was somewhat empty, I kicked the sand that got into my shoes.. A chair with a mirror and a comb that I didn't dare touch. A bag with a stuffed animal on the floor in the continuous room. For some reason I didn't really like dolls, I was a strange child according to my mother. For me, my imagination was enough. I took the rope from the bag and slung it over my shoulder. It was a rawhide bag, it looked antique. I opened it and found a Swiss knife, a pencil and a notebook. Well. He could draw and sharpen the pencil with the little knife.