Without A View

Missing the days when the soot was thick throughout the air. Time seemed to inch by as slowly as the black particles laced through the atmosphere hung about. Those days, there was really no sunshine and one would choke to breathe without an apparatus - the constant coldness from lack of solar heat was the new normal and those remaining on earth had grown to accept it. To think back on those days, it was manageable because we could still go outside. Supplements, gas masks, warm clothes moving about - we even learned to grow food and filter water with strictly limited sunlight. We all waited for the days of the black ash to finally clear, however we never knew what waited for us on the other side of that clearing. Little did anyone know, not even those left behind who were The Experts, who had helped humanity move from the months of nonstop nuclear bombing and destruction of our planet to almost evisceration and then to sooty blackness, knew.

Living in my dome underground, I stare at an old coffee table book full of beautiful photos of the Pacific Ocean. Days when there was still balance on Earth. We could go swim in the sea or take a deep breath of salty sea air. Looking at a black and white photo of a pier as it stretched off into what looked like forever – the horizon met with the sun at the end, setting. The Sun. The star that is responsible for all life on earth in one way or another. Now this daytime star is the one that will end all life on Earth.

The ash cleared and as much as we hated it at the time, we came to learn it was our protector. It was keeping us alive from the full blast of the Sun. The nonstop nuclear activity had blasted every particle of natural protection we had from the Sun’s full potent energy. We had learned to deal and live on Earth despite extra gear and needing to shower the soot off after being outside. But now – outside is no longer an option. We had to move underground, far underground, as the Sun obliterates anything on the surface. All oceans, rivers, lakes, trees, bees, animals on the surface – gone. We were able to move food supplies and maintain water underground, but it’s all so limited. Old train tunnels, mining tunnels, and sewage and water treatment tunnels are where we reside now. I look around the 300 square feet of my dome – it’s dismal as there are no windows. I feel the vented air blowing on my hair as I sit in my comfy old loveseat looking over this picture book. I flip the page and see the next photo of a beautiful couple, both holding surf boards in the sunshine on the sandy beach, and smiling. The woman in the photo is wearing a heart-shaped locket that catches a beam of sunlight that bounces off it in the photo. A beam of light – that same beam of sunlight would now burn a hole through someone within a nano second.

I hear my tea kettle whistle and I’m pulled from my heavy train of thoughts. What is the point of pondering the past? There really is no past, no future – just existing in this present moment. We did dream of the next part of the future, after the black fog cleared, and that dream was foolish. Only retreating as quickly as we could when we saw the upcoming part of what we had to live through next. Underground is something from old fiction stories. We have all been fascinated by center of the earth living from old tales. From New York City, the story of mole people to the Smoky Mountains, descendants who had moved to live deep within the cavern systems – perhaps they are still there, living undisturbed and never knowing what happened on the surface. Sometimes I wonder. I have no lover, no family, no children, no pets. I live a life of complete solitude. I tune in daily to my radio to hear others chatter through their isolation or share whatever they feel like sharing to the small world we all now share. I have my microphone and can join in on the chatter, but it is better for me to listen. I listen for sure every day at 2pm for the updates that come in from The Experts on next steps – if any. Any new way to grow food as our survival rations are bland and can be scarce if the delivery is held up. I wait to hear how they are creating more tunnel space to move about and for us to meet up, like we did back when we had coffee shops, bars, or churches. I listen to hear if there are any changes on the surface temperature or intensity. Any hopes of moving to Mars as Earth is now more unlivable than the surface of its neighbor. No vehicle of any type at this time can withstand the heat to propel us off and out. I was 21 years old when this all started. I am now 43. Sometimes I contemplate the point of me living. Why have I survived? What is the point? Do we exist despite ourselves? Do we continue because it is in some cosmic way our duty not to let our species go extinct? I often ponder why I push on. What flint of hope keeps me here? I sip my tea. I’m grateful to have this treat. So many things I have not experienced since I was 21yrs old. Shrimp scampi, sushi, steak, a cold beer, ice cream. Things I can close my eyes and feel in my mouth, taste on my tongue through memory, and memory only. I think of my electronic devices and how easy they made life, my old friends, my family, my beloved dog. All gone. Alive now only in my memory. My thoughts constantly ruminating, constantly moving – they’ve been my only real company here now in my underground dome for 5 years. And still I wait. And hope. Again, I’m pulled from my heavy thoughts by the chatter on my radio. People talking out into the abyss. A medical call overlaps. My red light does not go off so therefore my assistance to check in on someone in my grid is not needed. I’m relieved. I close my eyes and listen to the crackling of the nonstop chatter and sometimes it reminds me of rain – what rain used to sound like, especially when hitting a tin roof. I think back to a trip I took at 18 years old with friends to surf in Costa Rica. The richness of that place. It had everything. From Cloud Canopy Rainforests to the oceans, the mountains, the jungles. I wonder what it looks like now. All that green lushness that always had a wetness to the air – a super humidity – just gone. All the bodies of water that decorated that country, gone. The majestic animals also gone. My mind takes me to the continent of Africa. I remember learning about the Serengeti and how drought was always a plight there – waiting for the rain. Now that’s gone, too. I wonder what the vast desserts that were on our planet look like now – are they all glass? All the mightiness of our home – things people looked to explore, conquer, or own – all gone.

I look around my dome and wonder what I can do to maybe cheer it up a bit. I sleep so much these days that I only focused on a comfy mattress to rest on, a comfy love seat to sit on and a full length mirror for my own sanity and comfort – to not forget what I look like. Maybe next collection wave, when those in their dome get tired of their old furnishings and are looking to swap out for new things, I will participate. I look at a little plastic plant I have on my small kitchenette counter. I imagine a window being there looking out over some green space. Instead, if you put your hand on the narrow countertop, you feel the constant vibration of the pipes, generators, and hum from being lodged in what feels like the center of the earth. Inside my dome is at least a warm color – the color of a soft oak wood floor. The lighting is also soft and low to keep my eyes from being damaged. The lack of natural light is another obstacle being worked on. My dome at first to me was very depressing – I guess it still can be if I think too much of it. Like being buried alive within a roomy coffin. Sustained like hamsters on rations and water. I laugh at that thought. Maybe I need a wheel to run in?

I try and keep my mind from drifting to scary thoughts, although I had contended with near death many times from the bombing phase to life as I know it now - it is still scary to ponder your safety when so isolated. What if I get sick? Or get hurt? I have gone out to help when the red light came on to assist those within my grid. The most pleasant yet sad call was seeing a baby born. Bittersweet as that darling, innocent soul was born into this – how to share hopes for a question mark of a future. I did like hearing the chatter that came across as the babe grew. The couple was happy to share it all with us, which did bring me joy. I still get a laugh when the now 4-year-old has them crazy in their dome. It gives me anxiety also as I worry about them and their little child. All we own now is our meager existence hanging in the balance. At any moment, we can be gone. Very limited medical care and barely any healthy food is available so those of us left behind survive on sheer luck or will. I sometimes stare at my teeth when I catch myself smiling listening to the grid family’s chatter. My teeth are certainly discolored but I’m thankful to still have them with no dental issues, as that would be miserable for me here. I often dream of using them one day to chew through delicious food – but mostly I hope to use them again one day to smile happily for a photograph.