“Dad,” I groaned, exasperated, for the tenth-or-so time. “Dad, what’s the point? They’re just myths. You don’t really have to go to the Bermuda Triangle.”
Dad at the front of the helicopter, as the pilot, didn’t say anything at first. Then, he asked gently, “Eileen, honey, I told you, if you’re scared, you didn’t have to come.”
I almost exploded with anger. “I am NOT scared! But to actually WANT to go to the Bermuda Triangle, that’s just…just…idiotic!”
I froze, afraid my furious rant had crossed the line. Dad definitely looked hurt, but he didn’t say anything. Ashamed, but also childishly stubborn, I didn’t apologize; I just stared out the window of the helicopter. I was sorry, and my dad’s eccentric nature had scared many people away, including my mother, but I really couldn’t stand it sometimes, the way he spoke to me as if I were always so scared. But I still couldn’t believe he was crazy enough to actually fly us to the wretched, cursed place.
I forced myself to concentrate on the scenery outside, even though it was plenty dull; only clouds that only allowed an occasional ray of sunlight peek through. Though it was one of the most boring activities in the world, I continued because I didn’t wan to opposing voices in my head to begin fighting again. One wanted me to apologize, and the other wanted the first to keep her mouth shut. Suddenly, I felt the atmosphere change. The weather had not changed (it was still bleak and dreary), but it was as if an evil force was squeezing the air out of me.
“Dad,” I gasped. He nodded his head in assent, his eyes fearful in the rear view mirror.
All of a sudden, the plane groaned, like in pain, and emitted an ear splitting screech. I wanted to scream out for help; for somebody, God, maybe, to come save us, but everything went black.
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It was all just a dream, I chanted to myself. I almost believed it, except that my arm stung with eye-watering pain. I forced my eyes open to a brightly-lit, sunshine-filled room. There were flowers decorating the windowsills, and an ornate mural hung on the wall opposite me. I was lying a simple, white bed and my dad was sitting up next to me, examining his leg tenderly. He winced as he prodded, not seeming to notice that I was awake.
Suddenly, the door opened, and I jumped, jostling my arm ever so slightly, but a moan of pain still escaped me. Then, a brown-haired woman entered the room. She was wearing a white, flowing dress that made her look very elegant and graceful. Her eyes were dark and knowing. She smiled at us.
“Ah, I see you’re both awake,” she said. The, upon seeing me grimace because of the pain in my arm, her expression became very concerned. She stepped towards me and handed me a vial of some liquid that was clear. I noticed my dad was staring at the room in wonder, like I had. “Drink this; it’ll make you feel better.”
She smiled encouragingly at me. For some reason, I didn’t question her. I took the vial and rank it all. At once, I began to feel woozy. “By the way,” I heard the woman say, “I’m Amelia. Amelia Earhart.”
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I lived the next few weeks in a daze. I didn’t know if it was a dream, but it sure felt like it was. I didn’t have to sleep, the food was absolutely mouth-watering, and by the second day, my arm was completely back to normal. I befriended a girl named Sarah; she had had memory loss, and remembered nothing of her past, but the place we were at now had certainly cured her. I didn’t know what to think after meeting Amelia Earhart (The legendary Amelia Earhart). Sarah told me that here in this perfect world, nobody aged, the trees that bore fruit were always fruitful, and nobody ever got hurt. But one, and only one person had ever left – or disappeared. His name was Nate, and nobody ever saw him again. After Sarah had told me this, I began to wonder, why had he left? Why did he want to leave this perfect world? It was only after a few weeks there that I began to understand. It was because it was not perfect. The people there were all supposed to have died. Nate must have thought it, this magic, was too abnormal. Once I realized that, the world’s magic slipped off of me like a snake shedding its old skin. I no longer felt contented, the food began to taste stale and bitter, and my head hurt often. I had to leave. That was my only thought as I stumbled through the nightmarish dream. I devised plans, to run away, but the world was too vast. I could not run. I could not hide. But I could hide, I realized, from life. I could escape. To death.
