Episode 1: The Beginning
I am 18, but memories of my self when I was twelve are engraved in my memory like a carved scar on an old tree. Moments, for some reason, stick to you harder than glue no matter how much you try shaking them off. The jungle air, heavy with moisture, clings to my nostrils and haunts my every breath; the complete silence that had filled my being then sometimes punctuates a dream or crops up unbidden in the dark. This was an atypical jungle. This was the start of something greater.
"Santino, hurry up! The GEV is here. You're running late. There are your friends, you know," my mother's voice was both anxious and impatient at the door. Our transportation levitated just off the ground, a bit of sci-fi that never ceased to make me feel as if I were part of an act in the circus, but this was a bus stop not much different from one over a century old.
I was just sitting there, staring at nothing. I really didn't want to go. It wasn't me to just have a hatred for field trips — ok, that was a lie, I hated them. But this one was different. I had done my homework. I had read all of the popular books on jungle ecosystems, and they bored me to tears. As my childish self saw it, plants were all dandy, but only on paper? They were not super exciting.
"Santino!" My mother again interrupted my thoughts. Her head shot up in the doorway, my bag extended out as if it was some type of salutation. "It's ready. You can go now."
I gazed at the bag and back to her. Mom, I am no longer interested in plants. I've read so much about them. Why the fuss of going to a jungle at all? I said, succeeding in my final effort to bargain, this time with a slight frustration that came forwards through the slump of my body.
Her lips curled into a mom smile, as if she had won the argument alone just by thinking it. "Okay, bye. Let's go," she said as if I was just a few crumbs on the kitchen counter that needed to be brushed away.
The next moment, I was out the door and on board the GEV. It was only hovering about 18 inches above the floor, and it didn't look too sturdy — it swayed as if it wasn't sure whether to stay upright or crash. We were gliding into the unknown, yet strangely, the experience was as comforting as it was unsettling.
"Santino!" As I entered the transport, Jim's voice was one of the first things I heard. He was grinning from ear to ear, his blue eyes practically shimmering with anticipation. Jim was the grown-up of the group; a true-to-form serious and responsible young man with regard to work, but on anything remotely adventurous, his enthusiasm could singlehandedly power a small city.
"Hey, Santino! Well, it looks like we are in for a ride! The jungle is full of weird-ass plants I heard. Who knows? They may even discover something previously unknown." He nudged me with his elbow, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Yah, whatever," I said with a shrug. I hated to admit it, but his enthusiasm was infectious! Nevertheless, a shadow of suspense was hanging over me, and Jim's magnetic personality wasn't going to remove it.
Then there was Wren. He was kidding, of course; he always had a joke and leaned forward from where we were. "Letter for the Editor: What Is Next? FIRST CONTACT WITH ALIEN ASTEROID - OR - AVOIDING DEATH BY VINE?" Wren was funny about stuff. Humorous, yes, but always rooted in his concern for us. That was Wren — he could say one thing to lighten the situation, but you knew deep down he would be there if you needed backup.
The deeper the GEV glided into the jungle, the more palpable its hum of anticipation. The back of our guides, always cautioning us about something or another, huddled near the front. Their worried eyes locked between one another.
Mr. Thompson, our doomed party leader, took to his feet and called us all to attention. Soft and somber, like he was trying to make sure that something did not escape, his voice barely able to hold it in. "Into the Vale of the Devil we tread. Come together, no need to roam about. This jungle is hiding things we don't want to find."
"Secrets, huh?" Wren muttered. "It sounds like he's treating the plants spitefully."
Although Jim was suave and pragmatic, he leveled him with a look. "You know they do, right? In Brazil, there is a vine that can strangle a human being within minutes. It's called the Boa Planta."
I snorted. "You just made that up."
Jim shrugged. "Maybe."
The further we went into the forest, the more tangled in branches and vines it got. The trees grew so tall and thick the sun could not fight its way through. Everything — eerie shadows, exaggerated into loneliness over time turned to paranoia with each passing second. Almost as if the forest was holding its breath, waiting for… what? Striding the margins of the forest with its exotic flora, I sensed that we were being sucked into something greater than us.
But then a strange bloom caught my attention. I had never seen anything like it in all of my textbooks. The petals were a dark, otherworldly blue that seemed to glow slightly in the low light. There was something off about it. However, like anyone else, I quickly became drawn in by the story.
I whispered, "I will be right back" under my breath, then stepped off the sidewalk and made myself into a tree. Jim, of course, noticed.
His voice sliced through the thick jungle air, "Santino, don't stray."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll be quick."
Then I squatted to take a look at the flower, and the jungle took me over. I glanced up to see my friends had left. Completely. The guides, the trail, the sounds of the party — lost.
"Santino!" There followed the distant, echoed call of Wren's voice. I turned, but still, I saw nothing but trees. Endless trees. It held me, and the bush was alive.
Then, a blue orb appeared — floating in the blackness. I initially thought it was an extension of the flower's eerie light, but it was not. It was a whole different something. It moved fast, slipping between the trees as though asking me to come after it. Though I should not have.
I tried to run alongside, but the quicker I ran, the more confused I became. My surroundings blurred into long green and blue ribbons. Without warning, the landscape beneath my feet gave way, and I found myself rolling head over heels downhill. Everything slowed down, and I felt like I was floating on air as the jungle spun around me.
And then I ran out of steam, without even realizing I was somewhere that none of the books I'd read told me about. The jungle had changed. Hovering in the air were those gleaming, spherical lights of ghostly luminescence, which conjured up such ghastly dreams of alien worlds. Vines twisted and twined into unnatural curves. This was no ordinary jungle.
It was the Lost City.
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Written by: ABDULLAH ISHAQ
Edited by: SULEMAN IMTIAZ
Supported by: ZAIN ALI