Evelyn: From the Future

--- -. .

She lives alone.

For a sixteen year old nowadays, that is completely normal. You might think that living alone at sixteen is pleasant but for her, it is not. For every teenager, it is not. They have no family, friends, companions. All they have is themselves.

The feeling of loneliness creeps up on her every minute of every day. She sits on the floor of her cold and damp micro-studio, it is raining. There is only one window. The window has bars on the outside, the bars are there to stop anything from coming in and anything from coming out. The girl stands up and heads for the locked door that she tries to open everyday at exactly one twenty-two pm. No luck.

"What happened?" she asks herself. "Am I doing something wrong?"

The girl does not remember anything but whenever she does, the memory fades. Her brain is like a page that had the words rubbed off by an eraser, a temporary sentence, yet the only thing on that page that was permanent was the name; Evelyn. The only name she knew. It was not hers but somebody elses. And she knew that. She knew the name Evelyn, that was the only thing she remembered. Hell, she did not even remember her own name but sometimes she likes to call herself Mona. The name, Mona, reminded her of the moon as the moon was the only thing she had apart from the unpleasant micro-studio she lived in.

Mona hated her home. It was not even a home to begin with. Inside the micro-studio was a single wooden bed frame and on top of that single wooden bed frame was a single foam rubber mattress that would add to Mona's severe back pain. She had to use her worn out and old clothes as a pillow and as for the blanket, it was as thin as a wall tapestry. It was a wall tapestry. The blanket could not even protect her from the cold. The micro-studio would always have a draught and at night when Mona cannot sleep because of the cold she would get her towel and wrap it around her. Beside the bed was a long beside table, the length of about two bedside tables put together and inside that table were her underwear and a few pairs of socks. She would use that as an eating table as well. Mona had an old wardrobe that had an old trenchcoat that she would wear at night, the wardrobe had a few plain and dark t-shirts, long sleeves that had holes in the sleeves and sweat pants that look like they have not been washed in a long time. In the bottom of that wardrobe were a pair of high tops and trainers.

She had no source of music, internet or communication with anybody. Mona had a clock that never stopped working; she hated the clock, she hated time. She always thought everything was going slow, she could compare time to a turtle but Mona does not know what that is.

There is no furnace in the studio. Just a mini heater that can barely heat up a confined space. The kitchen, bedroom and living room are in the same area. The kitchen is not great; there was a counter, stove, oven, microwave and kettle that partially work and the sink was always clogged. The mini fridge worked well but it was empty most of the time. The only dinnerware Mona had was a mug, chipped bowl, half of a broken plate, spork and knife. She had a bathroom that came with a toilet, sink and shower that provided little hot water. Mona did not have the joys of spending more than ten minutes in the shower. There was a long mirror in the bathroom and she would use that to look hard at herself.

Mona is a small girl. Her body is frail but she is strong. She is not overweight or underweight. Mona has dry olive skin that needs to be moisturized. Her fried hair does not shine or flow, there is so much damage to it. She keeps it tied in a low ponytail, the split ends of her hair reaches to the middle of her back. Mona wears a dark blue gypsy skirt that reaches the ground because of her five foot two height, she wears a ragged brown pagoda sleeve shirt. She wears dirty flats that were pink and calls them her inside shoes.

It is now three pm. There is a sound at the door, a jingle of the bell; the same bell used every Monday to notify the teenagers, or in this case, Mona, that there is a new supply of food waiting outside the locked door that she tried to open. Mona heads for the locked door. On the other side of the door is a hallway, there is no light in that hallway. She does not know, same as the other teenagers, how big it is or how long it is or how many other teenagers share the same hallway. The door is now unlocked. Mona opens the door and looks out at the darkness of the hallway. She grabs the box of food and starts to wonder what would happen if she took a step into the hallway.

"Should I?" She whispers to herself. Mona turns and sets the box down just a few centimetres from where she is standing. She looks more deeply into the hallway. Just one step into the dark she thinks, one step.

One step. Would anything happen? She breathes in and steps out of her studio and into the hallway. Nothing.

Yet Mona gets a strange feeling. An uneasy feeling starts to take over her.

"This is bad," she says, "I should not have done this." She steps back into her studio, slams the door and pushes the food box with her right foot all the way to her kitchen counter. Whatever she had just done gave her anxiety and regret.

Mona opens the box and finds meat, dairy, vegetables, salt, pepper and oil. She puts away the food in where they are supposed to go. Mona turns the stove on and gets out a frying pan, she is hungry. She looks at the frying pan while it heats. "Evelyn, sixteen years of age."

"The one who got away."

She remembered.