Jordyn

I take another step away from the two yellow eyes staring out of the short bush in front of me. The animal blinks once and lets out a guttural growl. The bush quivers, and I hold out my hands in front of me- as if two dainty hands could protect me from a huge cat.

"Stay, little kitty," I whisper as I walk backwards, carefully placing each bare foot in the soft moss before moving again. The bush and animal move when I do. They're attached to one another. It's hard to tell in the dim light if the leaves surrounding its head are actually leaves or matted clumps of hair.

Swallowing, I take another step but land on a branch. The crack wakes up the animal's rage, and it pounces.

It plants two paws the size of dinner plates on my shoulders and knocks me backwards onto the ground. Its breath smells like rotting flesh as it opens a huge mouth over me.

Instinct kicks in, and I swing at the animal with a closed fist. It yelps but doesn't budge. Razor sharp claws dig into my stomach and chest and hold me against the ground with a thousand pounds.

The animal's fur is dark brown. The hair gathering around his neck is a darker shade, almost black. Bits of meat clump the matted hair, which drips with crimson blood. It looms over me, twice the size of a normal lion, more like a horse.

Panic swells in my chest.

This isn't the way I'm supposed to die. Not mauled by a mutant lion with teeth the size of my fingers or in a mysterious jungle with no idea who I am or how I got here.

Nothing makes sense in my head. Everything feels chaotic, jumbled up like pieces of a puzzle, but there's one piece missing. This puzzle will never be put back together.

I think I'm used to feeling like there's something AWOL in my head.

I think, anyway.

Yet, staring up at the tendrils of pink saliva stringing between black teeth, laying in the middle of a jungle I've never seen before, there's more than a little missing.

Somehow, I know I'm not supposed to die like this. That much is clear.

So, I use my foot and kick the lion off. It requires tremendous effort, but my legs prove stronger than my noodle arms. He scrambles back a few steps, and I grab the opportunity with both hands and take off at a sprint through the trees.

Sunlight filters down through the canopy overhead and projects glittering shadows in my path. The trees hold hands and snuggle so close to one another that they force me to turn sideways and squeeze through them. I snake in and out, following no particular path or goal.

Anywhere is better than under that lion.

My breath comes in quick short bursts as I pump my arms at my side. The lion tears through the trees behind me and fills the short distance between us with snarls and low roars.

A huge tree appears in front of me, and I wheel around to my left and resume sprinting. Only when I hear the animal grunt and snort do I look behind me. As I watch, he slams head first into the tree.

That means I'm more agile than he is. I smirk and turn again when I approach two trees that prevent me from passing through. The lion slows down in order to turn.

It would be silly to get cocky, though, because I hear it panting behind me, smell the coppery scent of whatever its last meal was, feel it thundering as it runs. He's still faster than me.

Suddenly, the ground under me shifts. Moss gives way to rocks. The world changes. Trees thin out. Sunlight bears down on me. I squint and brace myself as I burst out into the open. My feet catch on something thick, and I roll forward on myself.

When the world stands upright again, I push myself into a standing position and turn away from the lion growling at me from the tree line. I lift a knee to start sprinting again, only to realize there's nowhere to go.

An endless ocean stretches out in front of me. The diamond clear water cackles as it smacks into the sand, leaving white foam behind.

For the second time in the past few minutes, panic seizes my chest with icy hands and squeezes the air out of my lungs. The lion snarls behind me, and I plant my feet into the sand of the beach I've stumbled upon.

Am I afraid of water? Surely not.

My heart pounding against against my ribcage and the sweat dripping down my neck says otherwise, but maybe that's just from running through the woods. No, the air in there was cool. This clammy feeling gathering in my stomach stems from the ocean stretching in front of me.

I spin around to face the lion who hasn't stepped out of the treeline. Why isn't he following me?

The trees form a tight line around him, impenetrable by the human eye alone. The needles and leaves gather like a tightly woven basket and blur together. They look more jungle-y than beach-y. Their name escapes my untrustworthy mind.

If he's not going to chase me, I might as well relax.

So, I lower myself into the sand, still facing him, and look around one more time.

A sheet of blue and white stares down at me, but thin black lines snake across the beautiful scene. They form hexagonal shapes, and cotton ball clouds roll from one hexagon to the next, unbroken and unstoppable.

The sun bears down on me, copper red like a penny.

It all feels unnatural, like someone cut pictures out of a magazine and pasted them together to make a collage. The clear water, the oven fire sun, the honeycomb sky, and the glittering sand under my body.

How in the world did I get here?

Where even is here?

Chills cross over me as I look down at myself. I'm wearing a thick orange jumpsuit that reminds me of prison inmates. A single black word is printed across my left breast in a font with no curves.

JORDYN

It must be my name, but I can't be sure. The confusion that passes through my head scares me. I should know my own name.

I run my hands over myself once again, starting from my head and ending at my pockets.

Long hair, breasts, soft skin, full lips, thick eyelashes. I knew I was a female, but it's reassuring to know everything is present. I sigh and search through my pockets. I find nothing but a knife. No soap, food, rope, or anything.

My hands hesitate in my pockets as my mind does a little lap and squats back in front of the fact that I'm wearing a hideous orange suit.

This is the first important missing puzzle piece- more important than my name or gender. My brain shuffles through every catalog and schema it can find for a forgotten connection or a dusty manila folder hidden behind stringy spider webs.

Prison.

That's all it resurfaces with, but that doesn't make any sense. I'm not a criminal.

I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around myself. A shiver passes through me, even though the sun overhead burns still. The sleeves of my jumpsuit cut off at my elbows, leaving my forearms to battle the sun's rays alone. The suit covers my legs, though.

What I wouldn't do to be sitting by a fire right now.

Suddenly, the puzzle slams together. A memory bursts alive in my head, so real and hot that it feels like a truck has slammed itself into my chest. It deposits reality into my waiting palms.

I am in prison.

I'm here, because I burn things. People sleeping in houses with their goldfish and cliche photo frames. Entire neighborhoods of happy families.

But why?

My mind struggles to answer that question, but its search comes up empty.

Remembering why I'm here leads to the truth of where I am, though.

This is The Island, a prison designed for minors like me- too young to be executed, too old to be reformed, and too much of a stain on humanity to let exist. It was 'the answer' to the growing crime rate resulting from a world that was falling apart. The details evade me, but there is one thing I know.

The water doesn't seem as scary as it did before.