Eden

The planet of Eden was beautiful in ways that never seemed to make sense. From Tajay’s neighborhood, you could look up on a clear day and see the massive rings stretching across the heavens like silver brushstrokes from a divine painter. They arched across the skies endlessly, casting shadows and colors when the light shifted, a reminder that Eden was bigger than any human could ever really imagine.

But Tajay wasn’t thinking about the rings that morning. His hand was buried deep in the pocket of his plain black pants, the other dangling lazily as his hoodie fluttered against the breeze. The black crystal orb hanging from his neck caught the sun, flashing faintly like it had secrets of its own. He tilted his head up to the sky, watching clouds drift apart. His hair, neatly cornrowed back, tugged gently from the wind.

“Man… life feel like it’s playing a joke on me,” he muttered.

He wasn’t talking to anyone. Or maybe he was. Talking to the sky felt better than talking to most people these days.

At seventeen, Tajay already felt detached from the rhythm of the world around him. Everyone at school seemed locked into one system: grades, exams, repeat. The teachers talked like robots. Politicians on the TV spoke of “growth” and “progress” but never said anything that made sense. And his classmates? They laughed, scrolled their phones, and planned their futures like the world was just a factory line they were eager to join.

Tajay thought differently. Too differently.

He could blur his eyes on command, slipping into a half-trance that made the edges of reality bend. It wasn’t anything dramatic—no glowing lights or cosmic visions—just the world softening until he swore he could see through people, like their faces were masks, their words echoes of something deeper.

“Bro, you good?” a voice broke in.

Tajay blinked. His best friend, Marcus, was standing behind him, a soda in one hand and a puzzled grin on his face. Marcus was the kind of guy who wore bright clothes on purpose, his red sneakers scuffing the cracked pavement as he walked.

“Yeah,” Tajay said, brushing off the thought. “Just thinking.”

“You always thinking,” Marcus chuckled. “I swear, you live in your own head more than in the real world.”

Tajay shrugged, his bracelet of black metal orbs sliding down his wrist as he shifted his hand. “Maybe that’s because the ‘real world’ don’t make sense.”

Marcus cracked open his soda. “Here we go again. What’s wrong with the world now? The government? School? Teachers plotting against you?”

Tajay smirked but his eyes stayed fixed on the sky. “Nah. Not against me. Against everybody. You don’t see it? Whole system built to make us slaves to something we can’t even touch. Work your whole life for paper, bro. Just paper. They say it’s ‘value,’ but if you print it yourself, you go prison. Ain’t that crazy?”

Marcus raised a brow. “You really wake up and choose philosopher mode today, huh?”

Tajay laughed, a short, honest laugh. “Maybe. But I can’t shake it. I look around and everything feel like—like a trick. Food, colors, even the way they teach us history. Feels like somebody pulling strings behind the curtain, trying to keep us blind.”

Marcus took a sip, then pointed at him with the can. “See, this why people call you weird.”

“Better weird than brainwashed,” Tajay said, his voice blunt, eyes sharp.

For a moment, silence stretched between them, the breeze carrying faint laughter from down the street. A couple of kids ran past with backpacks, probably late for class. An old man pushed a cart toward the corner shop. Everything looked ordinary. But to Tajay, it all shimmered with hidden weight, like shadows beneath the surface of the water.

That night, the feeling wouldn’t let him go. After finishing his assignments half-heartedly, Tajay lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. The black orb around his neck felt warm against his chest, pulsing faintly when he closed his eyes.

“Why do I feel like I’m missing something?” he whispered.

Sleep didn’t come easy. His mind wandered back to the things he’d read online, half-buried forums where people spoke about vibrations, chakras, and the third eye. He thought of numbers too—how the clock always seemed to show repeating patterns when he was deep in thought. 11:11. 2:22. 3:33. Little nudges that felt more like signs than coincidences.

Eventually, Tajay sat up, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. He’d been experimenting with meditation, not because of any class or book, but because something inside told him to.

At first, it was quiet. Then came the rush of thoughts—memories, worries, the sound of Marcus’s laugh, the weight of his mother’s voice telling him to focus on school. He pushed them aside, one by one, until there was only his breath.

And then—something shifted.

For a split second, Tajay wasn’t in his room anymore. He was standing beneath a vast ringed sky, brighter and sharper than anything he’d ever seen. The ground beneath him hummed with energy. And in the distance, he swore he saw colossal figures—beings of light, humanoid but immense, their outlines shimmering like fire.

He gasped and his eyes flew open. The room was dark again, his chest rising fast, the crystal orb around his neck glowing faintly.

“…What the hell was that?” he whispered.

No answer came, but something inside him stirred. A piece of truth, buried deep, was beginning to surface.

And Tajay knew—life would never look the same again.