One ordinary Tuesday in 2016, Anjilian Craig walked down her garden path for the very last time. Looking back later, she gave herself a fair bit of credit, figuring she must have known somehow that her life was about to change. Surely she’d sensed that something unexpected was about to happen.
Leaving home that morning, Anjilian already knew she was an odd girl. But she felt herself getting odder by the minute. Some oddities were permanent—her magenta-coloured mouth, for instance, which she’d had tattooed a couple of years back. Other things were more transient, like her carrot-coloured hair—she was a natural brunette. But the oddities of her mind were the most notable of all. And perhaps they explain why, instead of leaving the train at Boris Street Station and heading for the flower shop where she worked, Anjilian kept her seat and rode on. Right to the end of the line.
As if that weren’t unexpected enough, next there was the airport, and the purchase of a plane ticket. As the transaction went through, Anjilian’s index finger began to vibrate—her padphone buzzing with an incoming call. It was her boss at the flower shop. I’ll call you later, she sent to the woman with psychic mindwaves, then shut her phone off.
An hour and a half later, she boarded the plane, wondering what the hell she was doing there. But then she decided unpredictability was half of life’s fun.
On the plane, she sat with a weirdo and a fat man.
On Tuesday, March 27th, 2016, Anjilian Craig left her home at 8:30 in the morning, never to return. At the time she had no clue that walking down the garden path would be a thing of the past. But looking back later, she gave herself more credit, figuring she must somehow have sensed things about to change—that her life would never be the same. She'd felt restless for weeks, and it had been inevitable that something would happen.
When she left home that morning, Anjilian was an odd girl. She'd been odd for a fair few days by then, but she felt herself getting odder by the hour. Some oddities were permanent—her tattooed mouth, for example; it was a rich magenta colour. Other things she could easily have changed, like her dyed carrot-coloured hair—she was a natural brunette. But the oddities of her mind were the most fundamental to her character. And perhaps they explain why, instead of getting off the train at Boris Street Station and heading for the flower shop where she worked, Anjilian instead kept her seat and rode the rest of the line.
That particular railway line ends at the airport, and there Anjilian bought herself a plane ticket. She was heading for another state, and even as the transaction went through, she got the distinct feeling the move would be permanent.
Our story only really begins on the plane, where Anjilian sat with the weirdo and the fat man.
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