No Place Like Dome

The smooth ride on the tram took me up above the city streets, sharing cars, buildings, and the dome beyond the city limits. The lighting presented to be a bright, sunny day as it projected it across the city. A lie however as I looked at the highlight on my phone. An advertisement to see the massive sandstorm that raged outside. A scoff came out as I deleted the notification.

Why would anyone want to see a storm? It was stupid and reckless as they often made the dome force field glitch out. The dust and sand flying around was enough to skin someone alive and wheeled off to the hospital. Just a pathetic waste of money. All for the tourist attraction moment of a lifetime! A moment of a lifetime alright, the end of it. And if by some miracle the dome didn’t falter, there would be another horrible storm to take its place within the week.

There always was. The only difference being the type and how violent it was.

A child started crying, forcing me to turn up the music in my headphones to drown out the noise. I was tempted at times like this to get the VIP pass for the tram – but it also would have been a waste. The headphones were soundproof, they were good enough, especially since I didn’t enjoy splurging. It was the reason why I followed the artist line of work my family had since coming into the dome two generations ago. It was cheap to maintain and continue to stay well above the status of these… people.

It took a bit to not form a grin as I heard my grandmother’s voice, “Back in my day, people paid you to do work, Jonathan! Not the other way around!”

What a wonderful person my grandmother had been. From the world before the domes. Before a rigid system where it was messy and chaotic. Though, I guess now wasn’t keeping up to the promises the corporations had established when the domes went up. The promise that work would be available for all.

A joke of course. There was never enough work before the domes. It was a brief time for when that promise was kept. But that was from the lack of people. Now populations had improved and increased much faster than anticipated.

I reached to the heart-shaped locket under my shirt, playing it with. It was my grandmother’s before she died. It was unexpected, but I was grateful all the same as I loved it. Her tales of the chaotic world from before were both interesting and insane. How asininely free it was. But that was then, and this was now. They were as they were and you either accepted it and moved on, or you drowned.

Looking out the window, the thought not fading away. There was a lack of jobs for everyone, especially for the less fortunate. The world was built on paying an entrance fee to even be considered for a job. Then, there was the subscription fee. Artists of all sorts from musicians to novelists, to visual artists like myself, were romanticized by the corporations. We had the smaller fees to demonstrate the ideal ‘starving artist’ trope. But everyone knew that if you were good, you certainly weren’t starving. You had a vault of money that kept building with each work you produced, and the wealthy would buy without hesitation.

A loophole that my family had been riding for fifty years.

Other jobs however didn’t have such idealistic outcomes. Those who played within, in my opinion, were either unfortunately not artistic or morons. That or they simply didn’t try. That was probably the more likely option. Most artists weren’t born naturally. I wasn’t – yet I continued to prosper the family name with multi-million-dollar creations.

Plus, there was the bonus of avoiding the bidding wars for careers. Artists were always wanted, however there were only so many jobs in retail or food industries, so the turnover was much higher. Bid your entrance fee against others, bidding your subscription to work there. It was a war of money as people won and lost… But even as I looked around, watching the streets and alleys. There wasn’t a homeless person in sight.

It was a bit strange. I had heard about the mythical homeless from studies of the old world. How people lived on the streets and starving. Many loaded up on drugs. But the dome had none. Where did those who lost the war to keep their jobs and keep their houses go?

The dome flickered, a part of it opening in the distance in a controlled manner. Perhaps the answer was around me the whole time. A scowl formed as I looked away from the dome, back to my phone to find a new song to listen to.

They turned to the easy way out of the system. Joined the expeditions outside the dome for exploration and corporate exploitation. You didn’t need to pay to become a Squander. People knew they couldn’t get a subscription out of such a stupid and reckless job. The Squanders had little to no life expectancy as soon as they left the dome. Out there in teams to explore the forgotten world. Outside with the wild animals and monsters that had developed in human absence. But they were paid well if they returned with something of value. They weren’t of old money though, second class to those who were. They were of a new, one trick pony kind of money. It disgusted me that they were considered the same social status in the eyes of the corporations.

Though, I couldn’t help but see the ingenuity of it.

If you were worth your weight, you were fit to be a Squander… then why not abuse that talent. It was a freer ride than any artist. You paid nothing. You got the glory for it. The treasure. And you came back to bask in it where the jobs were unending.

Though I doubted that those who lost the war in this world were all fit for such things…

And if they weren’t, if they were old with no retirement plan or disabled with no help, if they simply didn’t have the guts to go out into the hell that Earth had become…

Where had they gone?

Why was I even asking such stupid questions?

Another advertisement came across my screen. The Squanders were back, sharing tales of a massive creature outside. It was visible from within the dome.

That was why I was asking questions.

Advertisement failures… The corporations swore they’d be more personalized.

A chuckle came out. Yeah, personalized… These corporate heads still couldn’t figure that out. They thought I was a girl in love with the latest fashion trends and the hottest tourist places. This place… these people that ran it. An organized hellhole. I could only pity those who couldn’t figure it out. Though, there was little pity to give to rats trapped in a paper bag.