Sitting upon the feathered mattress his mother bought him when he was younger, Marian contemplated the potential he knew he held. Looking around, there were papers smothered with doodles gently tossed on the floor as well as random bits and bobs of projects he thought he’d eventually get around to finishing: Nylon cord meant for his high school AP Physics bow and arrow project, several mason jars he thought about filling with preserves or chocolate sauce to send to friends across the continent, and clothes he had tossed around the room, figuring that the dirtiness would eventually spark inspiration to clean up the place.

It did. He never budged though.

One would say that living in Orange would be a treat; surrounded by delicious, overpriced food and beautifully manufactured acres of housing, each coloured differently for a more pleasing aesthetic. It was clean—no graffiti on the walls or randomly tossed plastic water bottles in front of the plaza signs. Industrialisation weaved itself around the land. White PVC pipes sprawled in between patches of trees, weeds entangling themselves everywhere they can. People never stepped outside their abodes since every little thing was digitised nowadays. This emptiness ironically made for brilliant walks through the neighborhood during dusk: Floral hues blemishing the fading blue skies. And for the sake of retaining the effervescence of nature, it is absolutely necessary to stay as far away as possible from the main streets further up the hills; unless you want an earful of cacophonous friction and roars one would not imagine a horse to make.

Unfortunately, living on an island is cumbersome. While Orange was an industrial hub, with delicious foods and popular living spaces, many infrastructural and institutional essentials are nowhere to be found. Orange could also be perceived as an utopia for the laziest people. Nobody drove, as cars were self-driven; and much of the substance necessary to living was obtained through audio devices which bought things online. Many never moved from the comforts of their beds, consumed by inaction and laziness.

Occasionally the skies shed their tears in between the hours of searing sunlight, whether it was out of sympathy to the deteriorating society or the apathy therein. Marian sat up in his bed, turned around, and looked out the window behind his bed.

Unlocking the hatch that kept the window in his room sealed shut and slid it up, sillage from the pruned eucalyptus branches filling his nostrils; the anisey, intoxicating arouma gave him a headache. It was 2:18 a.m. The wind slipped in between the canopies of awkwardly bunched, interspecies trees that were placed parallel to the sidewalks. Marian had been listening to some original soundtracks from an anime for the past hour, reminiscing of the young princesses journey to avenge her father. Plots about naive girls becoming forces to be reckoned with was a guilty pleasure of his. His sister came to mind.

Marian peered through his window down to the sidewalk below, admiring the emptiness and quiet. A girl with hair painted by the black night crossed the driveway, walking away from him. The beads in her hair glinted a faded amber hue as she walked beneath a streetlight, Marian’s eyes following her bobbing head. Feeling his eyes boring holes into her back, she turned and looked up at him scornfully. Their eyes met for a moment, her facial expression softening into a smile. Her hair was messily bunched up into a bun, strands of hair contouring her face. “Gaia,” Marian called out.

“Yes, Marian?” she replied.

There was a pause in the dialogue, the distant cricket banter filling their ears. Then the girl turned her head back around to continue walking.

Marian felt a set of eyes drilling holes into his own back. Turning around, he saw his mother at the door—looking at him with warm intensity, her bleached white hair disheveled. Marian slowly sat down at his bedside, staring into her violet eyes. She nodded once, smiling, then turned around and walked back into the darkness. Marian exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His mother was mute, but her gaze was enough to disintegrate the coldest of men.

Looking around at his messy room, Marian took another deep breath and laid in bed.