Metamorph [Book Two]

[chapter 4]

I ALWAYS SEEMED to forget how much I loved the ride up until I was actually going there. I lived on floor 127, which meant I had a nice long time to enjoy the view as the spiraling escalator gave me a complete view of the city.

That was yet another innovative technique they had used when building the Hive. It had been too tall for any kind of reasonable elevator system, so rather than mess around with new technology, they went old-school... With a twist.

It was a continuous, five-floor tall escalator that curved around the building. There were 40 of them total each picking up right where the last left off, leading all the way up to the very top of the building. All the way around, they were about half the width of the short side of a football field--which sounds ridiculously large until you remember that there are well over 10,000 people living in the Hive at any given time, in addition to people who work here, college students who attend classes here... There are a lot of people who come in and out. Ergo, it's wide and running 24/7.

That wasn't the impressive part, though. The impressive part was the ceiling.

All around the tower, the escalator spiraled through the side of the building, starting at the bottom and slowly making it slimmer and slimmer, until at the very top, there was only the penthouse apartment half the size of a city block. And the whole time that you rode the elevator, there was a glass wall overlooking the city and a glass semi-tube over your head, so you could see the sky.

And days like this, damn was it beautiful.

Hanging in the sky were the first stars peeping into existence, but they were overwhelmed by the sunset that looked like the work of a master painter. Subtle shades of purple were already beginning to grace the east, an allusion to the quickly approaching night. All throughout the sky, huge, billowing clouds were lit up like fire, glowing in shades of red and orange and yellow, like they were the ammunition in a heavenly war.

The setting sun had already disappeared behind the Wall, and probably behind the city barriers beyond that, but you could still see the results of its light. Like dying embers casting shadows, the sky's incredible display was reflected off of every huge glass building, every skyscraper. As a result, it looked like the sunset had overflowed onto the streets, painting everything in beautiful shades of autumn colors. Even the trees in the parks gave the appearance of dancing with ghostly fire in the wind.

I wondered what the rooftop garden would look like under this dusk, and a physical pang of longing hit me.

I knew it had only been a day--less, actually--but I still missed him. I missed his smell, being wrapped in his arms, the way his smile curved around me, protecting me from my cold world. I missed being able to reach over and touch his hand, to feel him, solid and warm and safe.

Of course, that was ridiculous. It had only been a few hours that I had seen him--if I thought about it, I could still feel my lips tingling where he had kissed them. But it was always like this right after he left... Breathless, painful, longing.

I chose to blame my hormones for the agony I subscribed to, time and time again.

I blinked, snapping out of my mournful thoughts just in time to read the sign hanging over a hallway turnoff:

1 2 6

I took in a breath, already regretting the decision to come home. Getting off the escalator felt like taking the first step down the corridor of death row, and as I approached my apartment, I thought the grim analogy might not be so far off.

I wasted a good two moments rummaging through my purse for my keys, and another minute carefully, perfectly sliding it into place and twisting. The lock opened with a heart-sinking click, and I stepped inside, careful to make as little noise as possible. I cringed at the sound of the door clicking shut, before turning around and making a beeline for my room.

That was when the lights clicked on.

I stepped back, closing my eyes and sending out a wish to those evening stars I had just admired for this to be as painless as possible. "Hey, Mom."

"You're back," Nahana Barros, my mother, said as she stood. She was still wearing her business suit, which was completely flawless and devoid of wrinkles, over course. I could smell her hairspray from here, which did not make me think she had woken up this morning with perfectly styled hair. Her blue eyes were icy cold as she continued, "That's good. I thought the neighbors might think you were causing trouble."