The Beginning to a Novel I Will Never Find the Time to Write

I have never been outside… Never felt the amber rays of a falling sun drown my skin in warmth, or awoken to a blanket of mist silently resting over rolling fields… From what I have read, it has become increasingly apparent to me that Spring sounds like the richest and most beautiful time of year. Dickens speaks of March as the only month where the “sun shines hot and the wind blows cold." Only through novels, poetry, and words can I somewhat understand what home once was. What home could be again.

Even Hardy, in the spring of 1917, witnessed a sort of change in the seasons; winter was longer, the winds harsher and the soil saturated with rain water...

“The trees are afraid to put forth buds,

And there is timidity in the grass;

The plots lie gray where gouged by spuds,

And whether next week will pass.”

If only Hardy knew that, in 1917, during the midst of World War I... his words predicted a grueling future.

To put it simply, 118 years later began what we define as the sixth mass extinction. It began when global temperatures rose so drastically, most natural processes came to a sudden halt. The increase was unpredicted and so drastic... No one could have prepared for what was to come next.

It sent the world into utter mayhem.

Greenland's expansive Ice Sheet became destabilized, which lead to irreversible consequences. Countries such as Bangladesh, Egypt, Vietnam, and parts of Africa saw large tracts of farmland flooded and destroyed by the rising seas. Communities drowned in polluted waters, entire cities were absorbed by tsunamis; this was the beginning of the sixth mass extinction, and no one could do anything to stop it.

Sometimes, I feel so alienated from my own species. Our self destructive nature set the world on fire. And we watched as it burned. Instead of preventing when we had the opportunity too, we waited for the very last puff of emissions, the final tree to fall, and the last dollar to be printed. Before it was all too late, before mother nature finally had enough.

And oh, was she angry... Weathering monsters descended from the skies and feasted on torturing humanity, for six glorious months. That was until they just stopped, and the world fell silent.

The founders described it as “The Waiting." The period of time where everything sort of stood still, unsure of what was to come next. Some survivors salvaged what they could as supplies, and hid away in abandoned homes, hospitals, churches, cars... any sort of shelter that was not already ripped away from its foundations. Some, however, were engulfed by that quiet yet sinister part of your mind. The state where trauma overruns all common sense, and primitive actions take over. Where man is no longer man, where a human loses all humanity, and life no longer has any true meaning. They ran about the streets, reckless and immoral. Like diseased ridden animals, salivating and foaming at the mouth. Some resorted to cannibalism, becoming skilled hunters... Some killed purely because they had the lawless opportunity to. Some grouped together, and worked like a starving pack of blood-thirsty dogs. Their fun, however, soon ended when the stratospheric ozone layer (the particular part of the atmosphere which protected us from the sun's ultraviolet radiation) deteriorated. This allowed the entirety of the sun's radiation to beam down on our earth's skin. The overdose of radiation sent anyone exposed into a sort of high. It was addictive. The warmth of the sun's beams drew survivors out of the cracks and shadows. It welcomed the lonely and lost, like a warm hug in a miserable, dying world. Eventually, the radiation damaged the DNA of most living creatures, leading to horrifying mutations. Professor Yang said that “the sun became the most efficient killing machine." It poisoned everything quietly, silently, and effectively. A true killer.

Most mornings, I am awoken by the scraping of blunt metal against rock. The miners voices bellowing through the aqua pipes lining my sleeping quarters, and the aches slowly arising from the balls of my feet. Living underground requires a specific routine; I have to take my vitamin D supplements, pain relief for the aches, and an injection to alter the nitric acid in my blood, to lower pressure. The medical society here does everything for me that the sun is supposed to do. We've been under here for over 150 years now, so our methods are pretty far advanced…

I have to record my medical data every morning. My bone density is low, which leads to shooting pains up the calves of my legs when I stand. My skin pale and sensitive to the slightest change in temperature, I only start feeling somewhat human until around midday. Nevertheless, I attempt a jog every morning. Today, I feel the brittle bones within my body jolt and shake, as I move towards the waterworks. The sensation of cold, damp rock against the soles of my feet may seem unpleasant to most... but for me, it aids me in feeling somewhat alive.

Our home lies nestled into the body of Earth, the ceiling littered with shards of minerals and rock. Often late at night, when the darkness in my sleeping quarters seems to consume my each and every thought, I retreat to the communal hall with nothing but my father's torch, and some fabric to lay upon. You see the Hematite crystals embedded within the rocks' surface, reflecting light. So when my handy dandy torch beams up above, the crystals shine like perfect parodies of stars. Wordsworth said that “the stars are mansions built by nature's hand." From this, I can sort of fathom the sheer beauty he's trying to express. But, there is so much more about the world I wish to understand and see. John Keats describes caverns as a place of "Happy Gloom!” and a “Dark Paradise!" I couldn't agree more…

“Eden, I have a present for you. Come quick!” Shouts my Father from outside our burrow. I stumble away from studying, moving towards his voice. He's standing tall and broad by the opening, holding some sort of box draped with fabric. A stretched smile beams from his face, as he watches my approach. I look at him curiously, tilting my head to one side ever so slightly. He hasn't been this joyful in a while, not since the accident that happened in his quarter two months ago. Dad lost two men, and being a head miner, he had to inform the families. He was devastated; he wasn't eating, drinking, or sleeping. Nevertheless, he laughs and exaggerates the same face, tilting his head the opposite way. “Well then, what is it!” I exclaim, tugging at the red fabric that was doing an awful job at hiding the surprise.

“Well, you know I have connections with the scavengers. Last night, they returned from the three-week trip they had just endured, and Tommy picked up something on the way back.”

“For me?” I ask in confusion. Tommy has been Dads best friend since selectional years, and managed to be one of the select few that are allowed out there. Tommy and a team of eight others leave the burrows during twilight hours, and hunt for supplies. It's a dangerous job; mutated animals, diseases, and natural disasters could strike at any moment. They hide out in safe spots during daylight hours, and rest. You have to be fit, fast, and fearless to become a scavenger. After missions, each must go through a deep and vigorous cleansing, and so must the items they have brought back... So, how Tommy managed to get an item this big past quarantine? It's past me.

“I asked the boys to be looking out for one of these in particular. I know you've been reading up about it in your studies-” Dad pulls the fabric away, and I take a step back... My eyes full of disbelief.