The Adventure of a Lifetime

Her name was Irene, and she was an unfortunate child. Not that she thought so. She felt that she was rather privileged. Orphaned at a young age, government subsidies provided her with everything she could ever ask for- a home, food, education, toys. All she had to do was request it from Amazon, or some other online store, and have it shipped to her. She could buy anything- really! - and the government would pick up the tab.

Well, almost anything. You see, the packages travelled to her by airplane, so anything that breathed often didn't survive the trip. Irene would never forget the day she opened up the package containing her long-awaited dog…

Due to this shipping error, Irene couldn't buy parents or friends either. Everything she interacted with was either inanimate or automated. The food and workout machines were pre-set with the USDA (United States Daily Allowance) settings, so even if she wanted to (which she often didn't) she could do no more than her fair share of exercise. Most of her activities occurred on the computer, where she learned, played, and bought. Just like everything else, this was also highly regulated. Irene had a set number of hours per week that she had to spend either logged in to class or doing assignments. Her clothes were rigged with sensors as well, automatically recording her movements and heartbeats. Goodness knows where the information disappeared to, but it kept the doctors away, so Irene wasn't too concerned.

Unlike other orphans, Irene lived on the 13th floor of a skyscraper. She left her apartment so rarely that she forgot what the outside world looked like, and besides, she didn't really care. She could predict the view from her window easily: another skyscraper, barely 20 feet away. There were certain times of day when even looking out of the window became painful. In the early hours of the morning, the sun angled through the glass at just the wrong angle, and in the afternoon the other skyscraper reflected the sun directly into her watering eyes.

When Irene had first come, one of the first things she bought were heavy curtains to fix the problem of the sun. At first she was reluctant to put them up, but then summer rolled around and they became absolutely necessary. The heavy, white canvas eventually became as much a fixture to the room as the heavy, dusty, underused door, blocking out not only the glaring sun, but also the glorious bird calls. The only light came from the light bulbs, and the only sounds from the speakers.

Irene had only one restriction on her life: school. She had to log in for seven hours of class per day, not including out of class assignments. Those seven hours were hell. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if she could listen to music, but whenever she logged into the system, the computer automatically shut down all other programs.

Irene's favorite class was math, because it was so easy. It consisted of repeating the same types of problems over and over. She had to remember to get at least some of the problems wrong, though, to ensure that the computer wouldn't make them harder.

Irene hated science the most. She didn't care about the outside world- why should she? - and wished the class would just go away. She didn't care how long a pendulum would swing or any other physics problem because they were irrelevant to the games she was playing. She didn't care about what caused mixtures of baking soda and vinegar to bubble, just that it did and that it wasn't particularly tasty to drink afterwards, either. She didn't care most of all about any type of animal, because she figured that she would never get one, anyway.

After one particularly bad week where Irene had skipped science altogether, a message landed in her inbox: "Due to your outstanding performance in science class, you have been specially selected for a one-night camping trip…" The letter continued on with a phony positive description of the "adventure of a lifetime" into the wild. The group would consist of nine other failing students, and one adult administrator. The mandatory trip would occur next week.

Shit, Irene thought, I've had it now. This is my punishment for missing school! What can I do? It's a mandatory trip, I can't ditch. What should I bring? Should I pack a flashlight? It isn't on the list, but still… What should I expect? Will there be flying things attacking me like in Angry Birds? Will they put on a show for me like in Happy Feet?

To calm her fears of the unknown, Irene did a quick search on Google. What she found only increased her fears. She read about tigers, sharks, bears, locusts, viruses, and spiders. Irene freaked out and burst into tears. After she calmed herself down, she looked at the Google Image results. There was one picture on the far right that really alarmed her. It was a picture of the forest late at night. For the whole rest of the week, she played mindless games while blasting music in her ear, and woke up in a cold sweat each morning.

Finally, the day of the trip rolled around. Before going downstairs, Irene finalized the last words of her will and gave a special goodbye hug to her computer. She went down the elevator and got into the waiting limousine, which had already picked up the other girls from the orphanage.

At first all of the girls were deadly silent and shy around Irene, because they didn't know her. They were all from the orphanage, and were best friends. Eventually, they ignored her altogether, and just talked among themselves.

Irene didn't bother introducing herself or joining into the conversation. She just curled up into a ball in the corner full with anxiety and dread. She looked around, and supposed that the big hulk of a man reading a newspaper was the adult advisor. He was a man to be feared, with a constant look of anger stitched to his face.

They arrived. The girls were surrounded by noble, fresh, green trees in a lush forest that reached all the way to the bases of fairy-like mountains. The mountains were in the brilliant, magical hues of pinkish-purple, with the white glint of snow in some areas. There was a small, trickling stream nearby, tinkling its surprised welcome.


The wily black-haired girl broke the awed silence. "We have to walk up that?" she whined.  All the girls turned. Black Hair was pointing to a small, steep trail that led all the way up one tall mountain. "Yes," the advisor responded with an air of authority that anyone with an ounce of common sense would meekly obey without question. There was not even a single peep of protest as they started up the mountain. They began the trek, but Irene didn't follow. She just kept staring at one tree…

"Hey, you!" the advisor yelled, "Hurry up!" Irene ran to join the back of the line.

The scenery was stunning. The verdant carpet of trees was even more remarkable from above, where one could appreciate its vast extent. Poking through the foliage were harmless birds, chirping and singing in a happy melodious song. It was so serene and quiet that Irene practically expected a jolting noise, but none came.

She wasn't herself, and she could feel it. Every touch, even the brisk breeze, made her jump. Every sound (or lack thereof) unnerved her. She didn't want to move, to breathe, to think. It all was just too much for her.
After another couple of hours of hiking, the sky began to darken and they reached a camp ground. There were eleven tents, each labeled with the name of its inhabitant. The girls were ordered to unpack and get ready for bed. Everyone gathered for communal dinner under the stars, which fortunately did not last long, due to the girls' lack of warm pajamas.

Irene tried to go to sleep, but she wasn't very successful. Like the others, she had also forgotten long underwear. At one in the morning she gave up attempting to sleep and went outside.

She remembered, now, what had happened all those years ago. They had been so poor then. Irene's parents were woodcutters, operating secretly in a National Park. They sold their timber on the black market, eking out a living in the face of death. They did not choose a life on the run, it was forced upon them. It was the only way to provide a living for themselves and, more importantly, for their firstborn daughter. It was a dangerous life, too. They were constantly being hunted down and picked off by the local tree hugger militia. They had to work quietly at night out of fear of a similar death to their lost comrades.

Like all other three year olds, Irene was scared of the dark, the thunder, and the rain. Seeking comfort, she slipped out of the tent one night in search of her parents. The Pine trees comforted her as she walked, easing her fears. She was too young to comprehend the Danger of the Night. She wandered around aimlessly in the forest as three year olds often do, having forgotten her initial mission altogether. Up ahead, she saw a tiny spark, and rushed towards it. Just before she reached her parents, Irene saw a shadow dislodge from the deeper shadows. She watched in horror as the cloak with red hair murdered her parents.

The following morning's hike back was a blur for Irene. She didn't register the bird calls, the fresh smell of Pine dew, or even the rabbit that hopped across the trail.

She was so glad when she returned to her haven. Once again, she immersed herself in the falsely bright and cheerful computer screen. She was like a zombie, just following the commands of the machines around her. When the alarm beeps, wake up. When the food is ready, eat. When the computer says so, learn. She repeated the thoughtless cycle for days on end as she tried to forget.

She never could forget fully, however. There was still a gut-wrenching feeling, albeit buried deep. Irene chose to ignore it and bury it deeper and deeper. The next year, when she was once again offered "the adventure of a lifetime" she declined.