Post apocalyptic scifi written as a qualifying entry into LayethTheSmackDown 's contest.
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Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb we are bound by duty to aid and protect those who survived Skyfall. It's drilled into us from the moment we open our eyes that we place the needs of others before our own. Yet, despite this lifelong conditioning, I feel there should be more to this existence. Is it selfish of me to want? To feel? To dream of walking barefoot across golden sand and wade knee-deep in crystalline-blue waters of the ocean?
A dream is all it can be if what They say is to be believed. The air beyond the dome is toxic enough to melt the flesh from our bones in seconds. And yet... I can't help but feel as though we are prisoners. There are no doors to the outside. Exographs covering the dome walls depict a barren wasteland beyond and a sky shrouded by a red haze of our ancestors blood. I dream of freedom.
From womb to tomb is an odd expression to utter when neither apply to our society. They consider a man of thirty-five to have fulfilled his obligations. Anyone older is a worthless drain on our fragile ecosystem. Our final act of selflessness is to give our lives to sustain the next generation. Perhaps those words are a subconscious reminder of how it used to be. How it should be. Perhaps it's the impending celebrations and my imminent recycling causing me to reassess my mortality and worth.
They have promised utopia in the afterlife, and as they lower the cap upon my head, wires falling over my face, I close my eyes and see it again.
A moist breeze cools the excess warmth from my skin. I hear childrens laughter mixed with the sound of gently crashing waves. The sting of salt tingles my chapped lips as they stretch into a smile.
Although it feels and replays as if it is my memory, it's not of this lifetime, nor will it be the memory of whomever takes my place. But they will remember as all of those who came before have remembered, and they will dream of freedom as I did.
Freedom. Only those who realise they're deprived of it have an inkling of what it really is.
YOU ARE READING
Beyond the Stars
Short StoryA collection of Sci-fi short stories written for various smackdown competitions held in the pub. The Earth moved: Basic picture round Deja Vous - Candlepunk and a continuation of the Earth moved. The Twilight Zone: A mash up of two stories...
