For all of my life I knew that we were in hell. I knew that we were born surrounded by flames that filled the air with smoke and stained the sky an unnatural red. I knew that the flames that spewed ash also inspired suffering, hatred, and wrath among billions of guilty condemned souls. And I knew…that none of it was any of my concern. It would be senseless to burden myself with the suffering of billions when I am a part of the lucky millions. Yes, I was born in the center of a fire and brimstone hellscape, but I reside safely under the dome of the land of the righteous, the land of peace, hope, prosperity, and freedom. I am a citizen of the Consolidated Nations of Heaven….
Every morning, I wake up to the sound of the tv blaring some nonsense left on from the night before. This morning is no different. As I slowly drift into consciousness, muffled voices greet me. I am not yet awake enough to fully process what the voices are saying, but I am awake enough to recognize the voice that has cruelly pulled me out of my dreams for at least a month. I inwardly roll my eyes and fumble for the remote from under my bed sheets. I cannot listen to this recruitment ad for another minute. The Heaven Defense Corps has recently, well I guess a month ago now, started to push a massive campaign to get more “able-bodied citizens” into the military and take a more active role in the defense of the Nations. Recruitment has reached an all-time low this year, and although I would say that patriotism is more prominent than it has ever been, people… well I just don’t see the need to join the military. There is nothing to defend. The dwellers on the outside of the dome are helpless to do anything, and here on the inside, we prosper.
There is no chance in hell of me joining the Defense Corps, so naturally the persistent ads annoy me greatly.
After clumsily raking my hands across my bed for a while, I find the remote and turn off the tv. Finally, I can wake up in peace. I roll over onto my stomach from my usual sleeping position on my back so I can check the time on my alarm clock next to me. I open my eyes and see a flashing red 7:00. It’s time for me to get up. I roll back over onto my back with a groan and stare at the ceiling; not much to look at. I feel like I never get much sleep these days. This new job has me exhausted, but the show must go on, so I switch on my bedside lamp and roll onto the floor and make my way toward the bathroom. I find comfort in my daily routine despite what all the groaning would lead people to believe. Comfort is a must have in my life and this routine gives me reassurance that I am actually doing something with my life. As usual, there is no time for breakfast before I have to head out for work. I’ll get something on the way. I pull my jacket over my shoulders and brace myself for the chill of the cool morning air. I open the front door and head to work…on foot. I head to work on foot. Cars are expensive.
I take the quickest route every morning which also happens to pass by my favorite donut shop. There has been a recent campaign against them for some shady business dealings and union busting or something like that, but who am I to deny myself some great donuts. My pace is quicker than usual this morning, the cold is colder than usual this morning and it’s really starting to get to me. I am also anxious to see if my friend Maurice is at the shop.
corner today. I usually see him every morning before work and buy him a doughnut or some coffee, but he has been absent for the past few days and it’s starting to worry me. Awful scenarios play in my head as I walk. What if he was kidnapped? Or arrested? Or hit by a car? I wrench my mind away from those terrible thoughts and focus on the side walk ahead of me. I am one turn away from the donut shop. I hold my breath and my heart pounds as I turn the corner. I want to close my eyes. Maybe it would be better not to see anything whether Maurice is actually where he should be or not. It would save me the stress. But I don’t, I keep my eyes open and see Maurice sitting at one of the outdoor tables in front of the shop. My pace quickens and I cross the street without looking. He looks worse than he usually does.
When I reach him, he is sitting with his head hung over the cup of coffee in his hands. I notice that he is in a clean white t-shirt and pair of blue jeans, a stark contrast to his usual dirty clothes that he had worn nearly every day I have seen him. “Maurice! Where’ve you been? Are you ok?” the words sort of jumbled together; I struggled to catch my breath. He looked at me and sighed, “Thought I might have had a job across town, turns out I didn’t. So it goes.” Maurice sipped his coffee before continuing, I had never seen such a sad swallow. “I thought I had finally had the chance to live a better life, to make at least enough to survive, you know?” I look down at my feet. “Yeah, I know.” But I don’t know. How could I know? I’ve always had something to fall back on. I feel a pang of sorrow in my heart for my friend, but there is nothing that I can do. So as usual I offer to buy him a donut, which he refuses, buy myself breakfast, and continue on my way to work.
The office that I work in is pretty informal, all we are expected to do is come in and click away on our computers. I am not really sure what the purpose of our work is, but it pays the bills so it doesn’t really matter to me. My job is to organize files. And that’s what I do all day, file, file, file. What’s in those files I have no clue of, I do organize by name and date and never open the file. The work day usually goes by quickly due to the repetitive nature of my task but today the hours drag and drag. Maybe it’s my earlier interaction with Maurice that’s bringing me down, or the fact that there are more files to sort than usual today. Whatever the reason may be, I need a break so I stop for a while. I don’t have the urge to get up from my desk and walk around or stop by the restroom or mingle. So, I just sit and stare at my screen absentmindedly scrolling through the files that I have yet to sort. As I scroll, I begin to notice a pattern, if you could even call it that, that I hadn’t noticed before. The files all seem to have the names of people. Suddenly I am no longer bored, more intrigued. I have the urge to look at the files that I have sorted for almost a month now but have never dared to look at. I don’t know what has come over me but my hands move faster than my head and I click a file.
The contents of the file look like personal identification information for someone named Jamie Evans. I open the first document:
Name: Jamie Evans
Age: 14
Location: The Outside
Status: Deceased
I read on. The document details all the known information of a boy named Jamie Evans and the ongoing HDC mission that killed him. The other files are the same. They detail many of those who did not reside in the dome, most of which are children, who have been killed during the current operation to bring peace and defend the Dome.
I blink slowly, unable to fully process what I just saw and look up at a clock on the wall. My shift is over. I have been looking through these files for nearly an hour. I turn off my computer. Still unable to really process anything, I grab my jacket and walk back home at a much slower pace than I had earlier this very morning. I must look pale and bug-eyed because when I pass the donut shop, I hear a voice call out to me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I guess Maurice had been at the shop all day. “Huh?” I respond to him having pulled me out of my trance. “I said you look like you’ve seen a… are you alright?” he calls again. This time, being mostly lucid, I walk up to him and sit. “I’m fine. Just work stuff,” I say half-heartedly. I know he won’t buy it for a second and I don’t think I want him to, I need to share the information that is causing a great unease to well up in my stomach. He just raises an eyebrow prompting me to give him the whole truth.
Maurice looks just about as stunned and disgusted as me when I finish telling him of what I discovered. We sit for a moment without speaking. Neither of us know quite what to say, at least that’s what I presume. Maurice breaks the silence. “It’s horrible that you had to find out this way,” he says with a sigh, “But most of Heaven has known about this for years.” I can’t speak. How could everyone know about this? How could the Nations do this? How could I not have known? Maurice, noticing my silence, speaks again, “No one is willing to do anything about it.” I’m gonna be sick. All I can do is stare at him for a while longer and get up and continue my walk home.
I open the door when I get home and don’t bother with dinner or my nightly rituals, I just head straight to bed. But when I get into bed, lay my head on the pillow, and pull the covers over myself, I can’t sleep. My head swims. It swims with the withe the anger caused by what I now see as a betrayal by my government and the injustice against the people on the outside. I have to do something. But all I can do right now is stare at the ceiling of my not yet completely darkened room and cry.
I do not know what time I fell asleep last night, but I wake up at my usual time of seven o’clock sharp. This morning though, I hear no annoying ads on the television and I don’t get up immediately, instead I stare at the ceiling until I figure that I should not be late to word and I, as usual, I roll onto the floor with a groan. The same feeling that I fell asleep with in my stomach last night is still present, maybe even more present than before. Still, I get ready for work, skipping breakfast for the umteenth day in a row, and rush out the door. When I pass the donut shop, I see Maurice staring at me expectantly, beckoning me over with his eyes. I walk up to him hoping not to talk for too long; I am much more late for work than usual. “Where are you going?” Maurice questions with a raised eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘where are you going?” I ask confusedly, “I’m going to work.
And I’m running late, so I’ll see you later,” I start to walk away but a firm hand grasps my arm and pulls me back. “Seriously,” Maurice puts on a face that looks like genuine concern, “After all that you discovered yesterday? You’re just going to walk right back into work and pretend you saw nothing!” He doesn’t yell but his voice takes on the tone of a parent who is “not mad, but disappointed.” This tone offends me very much. It also makes me feel guilty and I am suddenly left wondering if going back to work is the right thing to do. I am left floundering for a response and out of embarrassment, guilt, and offense, I become defensive. “Yes, I am still going to work,” I say, snapping at him, “I still have bills to pay! And even if I didn’t go, nothing would change! There is nothing I can do! This is not on me!” With that he lets go of my arm and I continue my walk to work.
Today work goes by ten times slower than yesterday. All day I just stare at my screen, occasionally scrolling through the files of those that were killed by my government. I am so overwhelmed by guilt that I enter a trancelike state. Most of my surroundings aside from my computer screen seem to disappear. At the end of the day, a coworker has to notify me that it is time to go. On the walk home I am still entranced, I don’t take in any of my surroundings and those files on my computer are stuck in my mind. Eventually I become aware enough to notice that I am about to pass by the donut shop and I hold my head down, I don’t want to face…I can’t face Maurice. The guilt is too much. Sure enough, despite my breath holding, the voice of the man that I have been avoiding pierces my ears. “What if there were something you could do?” “Huh?” Maurice speaks again, “I know a way in which you could help if you really want to” I pause. Although he doesn’t say much, I understand what he is talking about. He’s continuing our previous conversation. I lift my head and look at him as he beckons me over and I oblige. I am listening. “What do you mean,” I ask. He smiles a mischievous smile as he tells me about his plan.
Apparently, Maurice is a member of an organization that helps provide aid to the struggling people who suffer in the flames on the outside of the Dome and apparently so am I. Although Maurice doesn’t have a whole lot to give, he gives what he can like monetary donations, non-perishables, first aid and such, just like everyone else does, and when they are able to, they trek outside of the safety of the Dome and into the flames and fire that hell is known. for. “It’s by no means an easy journey,” he says, “but it is every bit worth it to help those who need it.” With that my spirits are lifted. There is actually something that I can do to help. I am so excited that I speed walk home, almost too eager to scrounge through my home and see what I have to offer. When I get home I do exactly as I was planning to. I gather old clothes and blankets and canned goods and set them by the door for tomorrow when I will meet with the organization and help to deliver help to people who really need it. Just like last night, I forfeit my nightly rituals, not because I am nearly paralyzed by guilt and grief like before, but because of the hope that I feel for tomorrow. And just like last night, I stare at the ceiling for I don’t know how long before I fall asleep.
The next day I am so overcome with excitement that I practically fall out of the bed. I don’t groan or grunt or even check the time this morning, I just get ready and get out the front door as soon as possible. When I reach the outskirts of the Dome, I find Maurice who introduces me to the volunteers who are just as eager as me to make real change. We don’t waste any time gathering up the supplies we need, and after we make sure that everything is in order, we head out.
I step outside into the real hell for the first time in my life and see fire and destruction. I had no idea that it was as bad as the imagery that I see in front of me. Everything around us burns and I am almost knocked out by the sweltering heat that envelops me. At this moment a wave of doubt hits me. What was I thinking? I can’t do this. This could be illegal. I could lose my job. I can’t live without a job. I shouldn’t do this. The risks are too high. I’m not ignorant to the suffering of the people who live out here now, but none of this will actually help them anyway. Besides, the smoke out here burns my lungs and the ash makes my skin itch, all I’ll be doing is hurting myself. It’s not worth it. With that and without a word, I take a long look at the hellscape before me, and I turn around and walk back into the Dome.
Author: C. Alexandria
Designer, developer, and digital content creator.