After End

Skye

Double Wrapped in Cautionary Tape

 

Buried underground, Skye was itching to get out of history class. She needed somewhere quiet, without people or expectations, to digest the email her journalism professor sent her this morning.

 

She glanced at the clock, they were almost halfway through the lesson on humanity’s impact on the ecosystem throughout time. Between Skye’s thumb and pointer finger she drummed a pencil, in see-saw fashion, against her notebook, as if the faster she drummed the quicker class would go. The teacher mentioned a date. Skye stopped drumming the pencil and jotted down the date, and next to it wrote, CA, NY, OR, HI, VT secede from USA/ Join EU’s war against USA. 

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She didn’t understand why she needed to learn about this. She lived it for three years. Three years of dropping everything at the sound of the bomb sirens; her mother clutching Skye’s infant brother, her father scooping up Skye, they’d race to the basement they built as protection. When the treaty had been agreed upon, she, silly kid that she was, thought everything would get better, but the world had other plans. It was tired of being the civilization’s punching bag. 

She pulled out her phone. When the teacher turned their back to the class, Skye snuck another peek at the email’s subject line: Congratulations!

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She smiled. 

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Not a beaming smile of unadulterated joy, but a smile from realizing that her second life– with its not-half-bad classes, and unexpected opportunities– was turning out kinda decent. So far. This surprised her, since for years she believed that her life had ended when her father all but dragged her down here. It didn’t matter that she knew he was fulfilling her mother’s last wish, for them to live in the shelter. Standing at the looming entrance, she resented him and his outstretched hand. She rolled her bitter eyes at his scientific curiosity in being one of the first underground settlers. It didn’t matter that she was sheltered from the storms, droughts, and fires that were eating away at the world. Leaving her known life was tantamount to death, and she hated him for it, almost as much as she missed her mother. With the absolute certainty of her twelve-year-old self, she had believed that her life was over. 

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Yet here she was five years later, her life very much not over. More than that, she was excited. Not as excited as when she was a kid announcing to her parents that she was going to be a famous author who was going to save the world all while being a doctor, veterinarian, and of course part-time mermaid.

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Nope. To say she was excited was a stretch.

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Using her brother’s word for today, she’d call herself optimistic. Not optimistic. Hesitantly hopeful. Hope had burned her when she believed the doctors could cure her mother, or that civilization would solve all the problems so she could stay above ground, in her home and with her friends. So, now, her hope was double wrapped in neon cautionary tape. And yet she smiled because illustrated paperback copies of her book would be ready for distribution within the month, and the e-book was being sent to the other shelters now. 

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Money didn’t exist here, but it felt good that others would see her words. She knew her work was good, but aboveground she’d never have gotten published as quickly. Here, most people were too busy maintaining the shelter’s water and air re-filtration systems, or learning the intricacies of solar capture and conversion systems to have time for more creative endeavors.

Her mother would have been ecstatic. She would have let Skye ditch class to celebrate with a two-person dance party. 

She turned her phone around to look at the edge-worn photograph kept safe under the phone’s clear cover. A young Skye sat on her mother’s lap, their heads thrown back in laughter with the same abandon. Their skin, the same deep bronze, glowed from the setting sun. Her mother, the best storyteller, had been telling Skye a story about a magic ice cream shop. Her mother’s stories were the reason she loved to write. Together they wrote stories, her mother teaching her the art of illustration. 

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When Skye wrote, she imagined her mother offering suggestions, critiques, or her mutated idioms, like, “You can line your clouds with silver or poop. Your choice.” 

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Skye stayed lost in the memory until the teacher’s voice changed, drawing her attention. 

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“Due to worldwide droughts, artifacts from all over the world are being discovered. One ancient scroll, verified to be around 600 BCE, was just authenticated by aboveground paleographers, historians and scientists as religious text.”

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“Finally, something interesting!” At her classmate’s words, Skye sat up straighter.

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 The teacher overheard the comment and grinned. “Sorry my class is so boring. Anyhoo, the scroll, which the scientific powers that be titled Balance of Being: Vol 1, was translated, scanned, and emailed to every underground shelter still connected online. The leaders have sent it to all the educators, and I’ve emailed you an excerpt. Look for the email containing the full translated work in the coming week. I’d like y’all to read what I sent, and jot down your thoughts for discussion next week.”

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There was a round of groans. The teacher held up their hand. “And I know it’s confusing, but some of y’all are still writing the year as 2090. Please date your assignments with the year 01. New underground life, new calendar. I don’t know why it took them 5 years to decide to do that, but I’m not in charge.” The teacher shrugged. Skye had a feeling she and the teacher felt the same way. The change in year was pointless but of all the things to get riled up over, this wasn’t it. “Okay. Class over. Have a good-”

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Skye, eager to get to her secret hideout, bolted from the classroom. She ducked her head to avoid interacting with friends and made a beeline for the elevators. Seeing a crowd collecting there, Skye took the stairs up the three flights to level 4. 

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A few months ago, she pressed the wrong button on the elevator and discovered the floor with its unused and unlocked home units. Meant for a population overflow that was at least a generation away, it offered Skye a reprieve from being around people. Picking Unit 410 B at random, she almost told the few friends she had about it, but the opportunity for true privacy was something she couldn’t pass up. She hadn’t even written about it in her journals, afraid that her brother would sneak a peek, and find out. For now, it was her secret.

…

The unit was a replica of her own home unit down to the bland-patterned carpet Skye danced on. By now the solar energy class she skipped would have finished their quiz on conduit maintenance. She’d have to make it up, but she didn’t care. Her first moments here, she spent responding to her publisher, aka the journalism professor’s email with questions, like if the illustrations would be in color. She felt accomplished, professional. A real writer. 

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Then Skye started the celebration, and although it was a party of one, she pretended her mother was there, so she didn’t feel alone. Playing music from her phone, she danced all the dorkie dances her mom would have forced her to do– the Conga line, the Macarena, the Roger Rabbit, and of course the shopping cart dance. She danced until her stomach growled. Grabbing the last protein bar from the kitchen pantry, she made a mental note to re-stock the snacks before throwing herself on a blah couch exactly like the one in her home unit one floor up. She went back to her emails scrolling until she found the one from her history teacher. 

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Memo: Translated Excerpt Assignment

To: [Grades 11 &12]· Wed, Jan 8 , 01 at 8:43 AM

Hi Class, 

Pasted in the body of this email is the translated work that is your assignment. Lucky for us, they have translated it into modern English. Translations in multiple languages are available, let me know if you’d prefer it in your home language. Next month there will be a meeting with a panel of religious leaders, historians, and scientists, including a forensic archeologist to answer questions about the scroll. Read the below, and write your questions and thoughts in 12 pt font, New Times Roman, double spaced. It is due Monday, January 12, 01 A.E (note my date is NOT January 12, 2090 CE).

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“Some people we meet linger in our minds long after parting. Such was the way when in my hometown of Erebuni, I met a farmer, Loukas, who introduced me to Ruta- a lively young student, Sopok-a diplomatic envoy, Reman- a wise philosopher, and Ash- an ambitious trainer of Olympic athletes. 

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They traveled from far away lands to Erebuni to spread the knowledge of their shared vision. Below is their vision, as it was told to me. 

A timeless energy precedes life, but should not be confused with God, which implies conscious thought; the Oreka is a part of every rock, plant, and creature. It is a part of the air, the sun, the moon, the stars. Its power comes from the balance between chaos– the source of passion, hunger, greed, and the will to live– and stillness which is the source of indifference, logic, and the ability to be present and patient. One provides the strength to adapt and change, the other to reflect and accept. Too much chaos and destruction reigns. Too much stillness and the will to live fades. 

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One of the worst parts above living down here was that pretty much everyday was the same. It was like groundhog day, but this was different. 

 

Skye reread the excerpt while thinking of her mother and smiled. Her mother would’ve distilled the longwinded description of balance into a single saying. Something like, “That’s too long, why not just say, votqd vermakid chaphov meknir? Stretch your legs to the length of your blanket. Only take what you need. Why are the majority of humans incapable of only taking what they need?”

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They’d get into a debate about whether it was too many people, or just a few idiots in places of power that did us in, made living down here our only option. The writing might be longwinded, but her mother would have loved the concept. 

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Above ground, Skye knew a lot of people who tried to find some reason why their civilization was disappearing city by city, loved one by loved one. She wondered if the Oreka would give them something to latch onto, a way to move forward. Skye had also searched for a reason, but she wasn’t trying to search for why it was happening. She knew why. People. What she tried to understand was why. Why did humanity ignore every blaring sign sent to them to change their ways, to learn from the mistakes, to take accountability? 

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Skye wondered if the Oreka and its balance could help people find comfort. Then again, if they saw it as an affront to their beliefs they'd fight it to the last tooth and nail — half of America went to war with the other half rather than change their way of life to stem the worst effects of climate change. More likely though, the Oreka would simply be shrugged off. Forgotten.

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Whether they fought or forgot, Skye's life wouldn’t change. She’d still be stuck underground, she’d never be a famous author or mermaid, she’d still miss her mother, and she’d still write.