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For years, the overwhelming fear of death dominated my existence, gradually becoming an intrinsic part of who I was. As I got older I found myself wondering, perhaps it would be better for the man who killed my parents to finally put an end to my torment.
Yet to my surprise and despair, he never did.
It’s been 7 years since I managed to escape the clutches of that wretched hellhole of a foster care system, reclaiming the name my parents gave me. Throughout this time, there has been no trace or indication that their killer is on my trail and while the constant fear of exposure initially consumed me in those early years, I’ve gradually learned to navigate life with caution.
Even now, amidst bustling crowds, I find myself scanning faces, always on edge, waiting for the murderer to emerge from the shadows. Although my memories of the actual crime are hazy, the haunting image of discovering my father’s lifeless body and the subsequent trauma of fleeing through the dark, frozen forest alone for days, remain etched in my mind.
As if all the experiences that followed weren’t traumatizing enough.
Fear, like an invisible captor, held me hostage for far longer than any physical restraints ever could. Its unrelenting grip wrapped around my thoughts and emotions, weaving a web of anxiety that seemed inescapable.
It dictated my every move, overshadowing quiet moments and imprisoned me within the confines of my own mind. The trauma I endured had carved deep scars, and fear took advantage of those vulnerable wounds.
After escaping the clutches of foster care, I enrolled in numerous self-defense classes, honing my physical abilities to protect myself from any potential threats.
Simultaneously, I attended regular therapy sessions in an attempt to unravel the layers of trauma that had haunted me for years. Sheer determination drove me to expand my horizons, and I pursued higher education as if that alone would help me escape my past.
Although I have devoted myself to self-defense, therapy, and personal growth, there are times when the tendrils of my trauma reach out to ensnare me once again. The haunting memories and theiremotional aftermath cast a long shadow over me, threatening to unravel the progress I have made.
It is in these moments that I am confronted with the painful realization that the scars of my past may never completely fade away.
My dreams serve as a reminder that not all scars can be seen on the surface, and their echoes persist long after the wounds have healed. These hidden injuries, unlike the ones that adorn our bodies, cannot be easily erased or washed away, and though they may never completely vanish, their prominence seems to gradually fade with time.
Time becomes the gentle balm that eases the ache of our past, allowing us to heal and grow. Yet, I find that time can be a fickle companion, its work disrupted by the slightest disturbance in my life.
Moved? Nightmares.
New school? Nightmares.
New friends? Nightmares.
By the time I acclimate to a new routine, life throws a wrench at me, and I’m drowning in my past again.
Lost in thought, I open the fridge, stealing a glance at the microwave’s time.
Five in the morning. At least that’s more sleep than yesterday.
Wrapping my fingers around the half-full orange juice container, I fumble as I unscrew the lid, before taking two refreshing sips. The cold, acidic sweetness helps shake the last of the dream from my mind and bring my focus to the present.
The marble counter of the center island bites against my lower back as I glance at the windows, slightly misty from the overnight rain. The quiet patter on the roof above brings another sense of calm over me as I blow out a steadying breath.
Squaring my shoulders, I make my way to the bedroom to change to my running attire. I brush my hair into a ponytail, leaving some of my white-blonde strands hanging loose and framing myface. With my hair secured, I slip into a black tank top and gym shorts before stepping toward the front door. As I pull on my running shoes, I prepare for the day, therapeutically outlining the plans ahead of me.
Five-mile run, shower, eat breakfast, go to the office, review results of the tests, bring home supplies, happy hour with Henry and Candace, sleep.
As I step out into the gentle rain, the surrounding area is enveloped in tranquil darkness. I secure the bear spray on my belt, tuck my phone and keys safely in my pocket, and begin my run.
Running has always helped clear my mind. Focusing on breathing and the path ahead of me did more than any amount of therapy when it came to my trauma. Not that I can process what happened when I run, but instead, I can focus on the pain in my muscles rather than nightmares or memories of the past.
Despite my challenging upbringing, I never anticipated finding myself employed by the government. As a young individual with a Ph.D. in Earth Sciences & Environmental Sustainability, excelling academically, my talents did not go unnoticed by influential figures. With the abundance of grants and funding available, I would have been an idiot to throw away such an opportunity.
As I continue my run, the path gradually narrows, flanked by dense woods on either side. This is where the transformation happens — vibrant luminescent moss carpets the ground, an ever-expanding lushness in the forest, and a thriving ecosystem teeming with wildlife. The closer you get to the lake from here, the more extraordinary the environment becomes. This remarkable place remains a mystery just waiting to be uncovered.
That’s where I come in.
I lead a small, dedicated group of researchers focused on unraveling this phenomenon, with the ultimate goal of harnessing its potential for agricultural purposes. But first we have the dauntingtask of identifying the primary cause behind such impacts which no one has been able to do thus far.
Various theories have emerged since the first reports came out. Some suggest that it could be remnants of ancient magic. A vestige of long-lost realms and beings that once had a presence on Earth but have since faded away. Others propose that it signifies a natural healing process, a gradual departure from our world’s historical dependence on magic.
