In the Wilds: Before Her World is Shattered
Forged Series: Contessa Wright, in the Wilds
To learn more about the FORGED series, visit the Table of Contents.
Contessa Wright
Pronouns: she/her
Age: 14
Birthplace: Skyline, Cascade Zone, United Pacific Territories
Occupation: homeschooled by her mother (before she becomes a student at Bannock High School)
Relationship profile: never had a boyfriend (before she met Isaiah Iverson)
Family: Conseula & Jonathon Wright (parents), Isabella ‘Sis’ Wright (age 5, sister), Clarissa & Finn Roberts (aunt & uncle who live in the Bannock Zone)
Hobbies: reading, meditation, playing with her sister, cooking with her mother
Personality Traits and Quirks: shy, homeschooled, isolated to the family home due to being immunocompromised
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In the Wilds: Before Her World is Shattered
Saturday 01 May 2134 19:48
The thrum of blood pulsing through my ears almost drowned out the echoes of the cascading waterfall. I closed my eyes, just for a moment, to calm my beating heart. The muggy air, heavy with the smell of wet earth, made breathing difficult.
“Halfway,” I muttered.
Bracing my hand against a moss-covered spruce trunk still saturated from the spring rains, I mustered my strength to continue. When I opened my eyes again and pushed off the tree, I marveled at the twinkling flashes of fireflies that illuminated the shadowed path ahead of me. A century ago, their bioluminescence display was not common in the Pacific Northwest. As their natural habitat to the east was submerged beneath rising sea levels, the beetles migrated further and further west in search of new humid biomes like this forest in the West Hills.
From behind, my little sister’s pealing laughter rang out over the roar of the falls. My family was catching up to me, though I’d left the swimming hole fifteen minutes before them. I ducked under a sapling dripping with frilly moss that had fallen partially across the trail. The path narrowed at a massive Douglas fir. Ferns and prickly branches reached out from the path edge, grabbing at my bare legs and leaving light scratches on my olive skin.
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Underfoot, the knobbly, exposed roots reminded me of the thick ripples of buttercream frosting on my birthday cake. I picked my way past the tree, being careful of where I stepped. I didn’t want to trip or sprain my ankle. Papá would offer to carry me, and though I was small for my age and he could easily do it, we were still far from home.
A few more steps and the curve in the trail gradually took me beyond the creek's symphony, and I could hear the call of sparrows in the tree canopy. Stream violets carpeted the side of the path with their multitude of leaves and tiny bright-yellow flowers. Three-petal Pacific trilliums, a deep magenta as they neared the end of their blooming season, dotted the uphill slope.
Another turn and I stepped into a beam of light as it broke through the foliage. I blinked up into the brilliant sky mottled with yellows, oranges, purples, and blues. The golden hour display stilled my feet, stole my breath.
A gust of wind whooshed up the tree-covered hillside, and I brushed my dark hair out of my eyes. From this height, I could see the forested Wilds stretched before me. Once a valley crawling with eight hundred thousand people, Mother Nature had since reclaimed the scarred landscape. Crumbling remnants of a past civilization poked above the distant treetops. Interspersed with the glistening waters from the numerous lakes and swampy fields, the darkening valley floor winked at me.
The silhouette of a lone barred owl swooped on the evening air currents, and my heart raced at the sight.
Oh, to fly. To feel the wind as I soared high above the trees. To be free . . .
I huffed in resignation. That would never be me. Just the thought of leaving my home made my palms sweaty, never mind venturing further.
“Contetha!” my little sister called as she ran up to me and stood bouncing with the limitless energy of a five-year-old.
Would I miss her lisp when she eventually mastered her s’s? Probably.
“Will you hold this?” She thrust her treasured collection into my hands, then, not waiting for an answer, skipped down the trail ahead of me.
My smile faded. Our family had spent the afternoon at the base of the waterfall. The return climb up to Skyline Gardens was steep in places, and then we still had to trek home. Now, for the next thirty minutes, I was going to be stuck carrying the thick glass jar full of bugs my sister insisted we needed. She seemed determined to populate the edge of the forest behind our home with fireflies so thick that their magical illumination would make it glow like daytime.
I glanced once more at the view of the setting sun before turning to follow Sis with a sigh. I envied her energy. I’d been chronically ill with an immunodeficiency disorder for the past nine years, though I had been feeling better in recent weeks. In fact, when Dr. Williams performed my monthly checkup yesterday, he’d reassured Mamá that I was now healthy enough to attend public school in the fall.
She seemed both relieved and sad at this suggestion.
Strange as it might seem, I understood the sadness. Homeschooling meant we’d spent most of our days together, and the prospect of losing that time with her tore up my heart, like a hand rake rending the soil before planting. She’d been stellar, guiding my studies. Encouraging me to follow my curiosities, she’d built the lessons around my interests.
But being a teacher was her childhood dream, and now that I was healthy enough to attend public school and Sis was starting kindergarten, she’d be free to take a position in our community school.
I should be—I was—happy that so many would benefit from Mamá’s creative teaching style.
But I was also nervous about navigating the whole new world of Skyline Community High School. The idea of interacting with eighty-two other students every day was overwhelming because, for years, I’d stuck pretty close to home. The farm stand, Papá’s office, and the swimming hole were as far as I typically ventured. We didn’t own a vehicle like the Mayor or Dr. Williams, and anything farther than two kilometers was more than I could walk or even manage on an e-bike. I knew the six kids from my neighborhood. And only Odi and his sister Libi were in high school. The others were closer to Sis’s age.
Up ahead, Sis stooped low to inspect something on the ground. As I approached, she whispered, “Stop!” and held her arms wide as if to block the path.
I peered over her shoulder. “What did you find?”
She pointed at a banana slug, twice the size of my thumb, sliming its way across the hard-packed dirt. Not as massive as some we’d seen, but still impressive. And according to Papá, slugs have the right of way on all trails. Humans must stop and wait for their crossing. He’d impressed upon us kids that—if a person waits—their wish would be granted when they stepped over the slime trail.
Sis glanced over at me, her wide smile showcasing the new gap in her front teeth. “What should we wish for?”
“You found the slug, so you”—I gently poked her arm—“should make the wish.”
Her eyes opened wider, showing the whites around her russet-brown pupils. “Really? But it’s your birthday.”
“It’s okay. I’ve already made my wish today.” When I blew out the candle on my birthday cake, I wished that I wouldn’t have to go to Skyline High School. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want my life to change. “Go ahead.” I nodded and grinned at her excitement.
Our parents caught up to us then, and Papá placed his hands on our shoulders. Catching sight of the slow-moving specimen before us, he asked, “Did you make a wish?”
“Contetha told me I get to make it!” Sis announced, puffing her little chest with pride.
Mamá peeked around Papá’s broad shoulders, her eyebrows lifted in amusement. “How generous.”
This right here—my family crowded together—this is what I really wanted. For us to remain together, happy, never changing.
Sis squeezed her eyes closed and whispered, “I wish for . . .”
“Shh!” I nudged her. “Don’t say it out loud, or it won’t come true.”
“Go ahead,” Papá said, patting her shoulder as we all stood and waited for Sis to mutter her wish. Then she hopped over the slime trail and took off up the path, skipping and humming to herself.
Papá followed, and Mamá reached out for the glass jar in my hand. “The birthday girl shouldn’t have to carry her sister’s bounty. Especially after giving up the slug trail wish.” Her eyes twinkled in the dim light. She wrapped her other arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “You are the best big sister, you know that, Contessa?”
My chest tingled with warmth at Mamá’s words. I rested my head against her shoulder and breathed in her lavender and vanilla scent.
We continued up the narrow path until we caught up to Papá, who waited at the trail exit.
“Thought I’d lost you two,” he said as he ruffled my hair, then boosted me over the concrete barrier.
I smoothed my thick hair out of my face—the wavy ends too short to stay tucked behind my ears—and followed Sis into Skyline Gardens.
Not to be confused with an actual garden plotted with flowers and vegetables like we had at home, the old cemetery was home to blackberry brambles, tall grass, and broken statues. On sunny days, residents of West Portlandia flocked to the open space for picnics because the rest of the hilly terrain was covered with trees or abandoned structures blanketed by vegetation.
I glanced back to see Papá helping Mamá before climbing the short concrete wall himself. He took Sis’s collection jar in one hand and laced the fingers of his other through Mamá’s.
What would it be like to hold a boy’s hand? I threaded my fingers together to see how it might feel. The heat of my palms together made me notice the chill in the air, and I shivered. Nervous butterflies flitted about in my stomach, thinking about boys and school. I focused on the pine scent of the trees to calm my nerves. No sense worrying about holding a boy’s hand. Not like any at the community school would be interested in me.
We skirted the edge of the terraced hillside, respectful of the rows of primitive graves that hid among the creeping blackberries and thick grass. The old cemetery seemed more hallowed in the twilight than in the brightness of day.
Even Sis seemed affected by the place and slowed down until she was walking beside me. “This place creeps me out,” she said in an uncharacteristically small voice.
I put an arm around her and drew her closer. “Look at all these families. Together for eternity.” I pointed to the crumbling wall that delineated a family plot with several tombstones hidden in the unmanicured space.
“Will we always be together?”
“Of course,” I said and squeezed her arm.
We walked in silence past the dilapidated structure of the funeral home. On our other side, several columns reached skyward like an ancient Greek temple poking above the brambles. The setting sun's rays made the deteriorating pillars stand out against the greenery.
“Look.” I nodded toward the circle of half-hidden columns. “Should we bring a picnic to Olympus tomorrow?”
Papá’s bedtime storytelling included numerous tales from his Greek ancestry. Both Sis and I embraced his obsession with the Greek gods, renaming our corner of the world after the myths and legends of the ancient classics.
A grin spread across my little sister’s face. “Yes, yes, yes!” She bounced like she was on a pogo stick. “And will you tell me the story of Theseus and Ariadne?” Although her lisp made it sound nothing like the correct pronunciation.
I smiled. “Again?”
She nodded, eyebrows lifted high in a hopeful, pleading expression.
I booped her nose. “Of course.”
She squirmed to get away, laughing with delight.
Sis loved the tragic love story. I mean, who wouldn’t fantasize about a Greek prince or a god falling in love with you at first sight? My fourteen-year-old heart fluttered with longing to experience the doting attention of even one brave and handsome suitor.
We turned west out of the gardens onto the Skyline Path. The wide track had been a street used by cars long ago—back before the Great Changes. Now it was the main walking path between our neighborhood near the comms tower and the main Skyline settlement about nine kilometers east of our home. No trees or larger bushes invaded the expanse because vehicles still used the route occasionally. Still, vegetation had broken through the pavement over the decades and turned the ground uneven and bumpy.
Sis leapfrogged from mound to mound, calling back to me, “Watch out! Hot lava!” She giggled and sprang to another grassy clump, avoiding the packed dirt and crumbling asphalt.
I didn’t have the energy to play the game—not after the climb from the swimming hole—so I let Sis pull ahead as I trudged along the path. Though my footfalls were heavy, the brush on either side and the tree canopy that almost met overhead made the journey beneath the living tunnel peaceful. The sun had lowered behind the Cascade range, so the path was shrouded in dusky shadows. Bats darted overhead, clearing the air of mosquitoes. I silently thanked them for their efforts.
I glanced back at my parents, who trailed a few paces behind me. Their silhouette was like a painting of lovers walking hand in hand down the middle of the old road. Serene. Heart-warming. Comforting.
The low rumble of Papá’s voice echoed off the trees and branches around us. “I spoke with Governor Zaad this morning. Presented my plan.”
“And?” Mamá’s quiet voice sounded like bells chiming in comparison to Papá’s deeper timbre.
“She had lots of questions—like she truly wanted to know the details. She even asked if I could attend the next assembly meeting in person to present to the zone’s mayors.”
“I knew she’d love your idea!”
I chanced another peek. Their love for one another radiated as brightly as the fireflies glowing behind our house.
My chest swelled with pride. My papá was smart and kind. He didn’t have a hoity-toity position like my uncle Finn in a government lab, but he was respected by our local mayor, who had reached out to the Zone Governor on his behalf. I’d never met Governor Zaad, but Papá considered her to be a compassionate leader who was always open to solutions for our zone’s issues—government policies often benefited the Urban Centers rather than those of us in the less populated Wilds.
I slowed my pace so I could hear their conversation better.
“When’s the next meeting?” Mamá asked.
“In two weeks. The governor said if the mayors all agree, the next step would be to present to the other zone assemblies. Maybe even at the Climate Summit in September.”
“Your idea could be just the spark needed to bring about real change in the Wilds. Just once, I’d like to see ideas flow into the Urban Centers instead of them always dictating to us.”
Papá sighed. “Governor Zaad has made strides in changing policies, but the wheels of government are slow.”
Then he startled me by catching up and draping his burly arm over my shoulder. “Almost as slow as our tired birthday girl.” He handed the firefly jar to Mamá and turned his back to me. “Hop up, little toad! Let’s get you home.”
Climbing aboard gratefully, I rested my chin on his shoulder. I caught a glimpse of Sis skipping toward us before I closed my eyes, allowing the soothing voices of my parents and Papá’s gentle ambling gait to rock me to sleep.
For a deeper look into the characters of Shattered, check out these short stories and profiles:
The Story-Seeker and Her Rooted Friend
·Contessa may not have many friends, but she will always find plenty to say to the locals. A short story written to honor Earth Day, 2025.
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This reminds me of ‘Engine Summer’, by John Crowley, one of my favourite post apocalypse novels. Beautifully done.
Lovely scene with lots of insights and foreshadowing! Made me tear up.