Eden

I turned my hand over and over, flipping it slowly, methodically as my eyes searched. It was odd.

There were no marks, no smudges on the perfectly smooth porcelain skin. It felt foreign. It wasnt my skin. It couldn't be.

I remembered thin scars dotting the back, fingers made of calluses, and dirt permanently lodged under the rough nails. I had even cut my pal on an unexpected rock a few days ago and the wound had yet to heal. There was no sign of it now. Of any of it.

I flexed my fingers, wiggling them sporadically to remind myself that this was indeed my hand.

I tore my gaze from the uncomfortable thought and looked upon the thing that disturbed me most of all.

A stranger stared back at me.

Krisp brand new cloths fit snug on his body. His shoulders were broad, though their still held the slight slope of adolescence- the promise of manhood, a promise they broke.

He was tall for his age, his legs like denim stilts. And although the black combat boots were tightly fit, they couldnt change the fact that his feet we large. The boy shifted said feet nervously as I stared at them so I moved my gaze upward instead.

He was slender in stature, not quite malnurished- he had too much muscle to be a skeleton. There was simply no fat, no excess. Everything had a purpose.

Stretched hints of abs could be guessed through the defining stark white shirt while his pecks stood out, casting a shadow on the clean fabric. This along with his corded arms suggested his loge involved a log of heavy lifting- continously and daily.

The black leather vest, on the other hand, told a different story, a story of privilege and luxury I had never known.

I flicked my eyes to his face and they were caught by his piercing gaze. A familiar gaze. One I had only seen a handful of times. His eyes were sky blue- clear and boundless. As of now they were wide with fear and wonder. I felt myself blink, briefly catching the boy to the same.

Wait.

No.

I blinked again and shook my head in disbelief.

He did the same.

I look down at myself and see only loose, torn Jean's too short for my legs, covered in old mud stains and a shirt Pa had given me on my 17th birthday. It was only a couple years old, but it was already tattered- missing at least two buttons, the checkered pattern faded in patches, thoug it still fit him loosely. I look back at the stranger in front of me, frantically, desperately, and I see my own emotions reflected in the boys familiar eyes. His hair hung over his eyes just brushing his long dark lashes. It was dark, deep, almost unnatural black for how perfect it was. The thick locks were styled in a carefully messy manner. It was such a contrast to my own dark hair, covered in dust and grime from too little washings, swept to the side out of my face.

I look back down at myself, blinking, and I cant help the sharp gasp from escaping me. I was wearing the boys clothes. I could feel the heavy leather vest on my shoulders, the denim constricting my thighs.

No.

Wait.

I blinked again and everything came back. The men in black armor, Ma screaming my name, impossibly strong arms dragging me further and further away. A shot ringing in my ears. I snap back and watch a tear run down my porcelain cheek.

It's real.

This was me.

They caught me.

They transformed me, warped me, made me perfect.

And now there was no more escape.

All I could do now was survive.

A knock at the door made me jump and quickly wipe away my single year.

A man with chiseled features, smooth face. And salt and pepper hair steps inside. I turn around. He smiles widely at me, clasping his hands together. "Perfect! Just perfect! They were right about you. You turned out.....pefect," he says proudly, looking me up and down. "What do you think? Ready to meet everyone else?" He asked with raised, expectant eyebrows. I stared at thim, shocked, silent. It was starting. The rest of my life. My fright for survival.

The man chuckles and swings the door back open, light pouring in. His smile grows wider, "Welcome to Eden."