Page 21 of Ruby
It’s why I haven’t yet reached for a piece of glass and slit my throat with it. That’s why I’m still hanging on to the singular thread of hope that I’ll be rescued and let out of this tree.
There’s hope to be found in strange places.
Even now, where I could be eaten or fall a great distance, I still feel a strong urge to live. Strong enough to hold resentment for the ugly bastards that did this to me.
But right now, my rage and panic aren’t doing me any favors. To keep my mind off the fragility of my existence, I find a new scapegoat. The woman. Is her hair a vivid purple the same as mine is red? What kind of technology is that?
And, more importantly, is she working with them?
She wasn’t trapped in a pod like I was. She seemed safe enough to argue with them. Is she the reason I got kidnapped? Are there other humans stuck there? Are we still on Earth where aliens have invaded and are being held in a separate facility?
A glance around makes that seem unlikely. No, not Earth. Somewhere else.
Are there other aliens?
Each question without an answer only leads me to more frustration. The woman looked human enough, but her eyes were such a chilling blue shade that I would believe she is another humanoid alien species. Plus, if she were human, she wouldn’t have hit me and thrown me into this pod when all I wanted to do was figure out what the hell was happening to me and where I was.
Except she definitely seemed human. Right?
No answers come, no matter how long my mind circles.
The wind has not let up since I gained consciousness. Through the viewing port of the pod, I try to catch a glimpse of where I’ve been thrust into but all I see are clouds and trees. I can barely see anything in clear detail because of how much the tree I am in is swaying—light illuminating verdant patches of alien plant life and the dangerous, finely pointed branches that regularly whizz past.
Giving up on that particular fruitless endeavour, I brace myself.
There is nothing for me to do. Nothing. Then I remember the hair. Maybe there is something I can control and set to rights.
I pull my hair forward again and busy my hands braiding it while the wind blows my pod around like a toy and I think about what I will do if, by some miracle, I’m able to get out of the tree alive and make it somewhere safe before getting eaten alive by something.
Don’t think about that, I chide myself.
I’m not sure how long it goes on, and it feels like longer than forever but I know that I have managed to neurotically braid and unbraid my hair a ridiculous amount of times and I have gone through all the stages of grief several times over, but I don’t feel tired in the slightest.
Thankfully, I notice that after what seems like hours of relentless, violent winds, the storm has finally started to slow down. I am also grateful that, as many times I have criedand screamed, I don’t have the headaches that characteristically come with them.
Yet another new development.
One more new thing to add to the confusing mix, but one I will try not to question at this time.
It only takes a short time for the wind to become a harsh breeze and all the trees are no longer a single blurred image. Many of the ones I can see are bent in a weird way, and the damage from the storm is very obvious.
I venture to shift my weight forward and poke my head out for a better view of the aftermath, only to see the most beautiful sky I’ve ever seen in my life. It is a soft gradient of pastel pinks and purples dotted here and there with darker, almost blue spots, with the previously vibrantly verdant canopy taking on a much darker emerald color.
The container groans audibly as the tree sways gently back and forth, dancing in the dying gasps of the storm and I hurriedly scurry back into my safe corner.
“Thank God,” I mutter in relief, thankful that this tree is still standing, and I haven’t fallen out yet.
“Yet” being the important part of that. Though, I am not sure if I should be relieved because I still have to get down from here one way or another, and I don’t think I would survive doing it the hard way.
It’s not like there is any sort of rescue team coming to pick me up; I don’t even think anyone has a shadow of an idea where I am right now except for that purple-haired woman. No, if I don’t somehow get myself out of this situation, I will have to stay here until I can figure out a way to climb down from this impossibly high tree.
When the branches that my chamber is lodged against stop swaying like they are trying to get rid of me, I will have to ask myself whether it is a good idea to start trying to leave the tree.
Except I can’t seem to convince myself to climb out.
From the broken glass of the pod, I can see that there is still light outside, though softer and warmer than any sunset I’ve ever seen. It makes me think about it being early morning and I nod my head, deciding that it is time.
My earliest and only memory of climbing anything is the tree that used to be in my godmother’s backyard and when she died, my mother didn’t let me go there anymore. I have nary a sporting bone in my body and although I can hold a tune for some time, that’s about the only thing my lungs are good for.
