After the End of Earth

Chapter One

I jerk awake from the same nightmare that's haunted me since I was 10 and quickly pull back the covers knowing what will come next and dash to the bathroom. I flush my vomit down the metal toilet, along with any hope of having a full nights sleep and quietly pad back to my room. I glance out the window, the city's lights won't be turned on for another 3 hours and the purple glow of the electronic wall surrounding the only inhabitable place on earth is an eerie sight. The longer I stare at the forcefield, the more my anxiety grows; I hate the thought of being trapped somewhere, even a place as large as London. My rapid heartrate and breathing is somewhat eased as I tell myself the wall is to protect us, not trap us, a point that is frequently stressed by the Council at the Monthly Meeting when faced with angry threats from the rebels.

I will never understand where the rebels get their abstract ideas from. We're taught at school exactly why the wall is up: in 2050 the world was on fire, the air was unbreathable. Nobody knows why, only that we couldn't stop it. Our ancestors were smart, they saw what was coming and designed technology which saved their lives and in turn gave us a future. Now, a thousand of us live within the walls of London. I like to believe that there are others somewhere on this planet, the chances are slim, I know that, but the thought gives me hope. Gives me hope that nature didn't completely turn it's back on humanity and that some people survived the massacre.

The bright, white light suddenly flooding the city pulls me out of my musing. I look down at the streets below me as I do every morning. The familiar misplaced disappointment creeps in as I realise that nothing has changed overnight. The houses in our aggregation's part of the city is still the same shade of dull grey, the barred windows in the town houses and tall apartment block still the same shape and the road still the same straight path littered with potholes and the occasional white marking. I remember my mother told me that the markings on our roads once had meaning, now they're meaningless spots of colour on the floor.