Random Writing

The Dome

The remains of the human race live in a glass dome with no entrance or exit, which protects them from the wasteland on the outside. One morning, a dusty hand print on the outside of the dome.

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I've heard that we once were a thriving species. That humans occupied every nook and cranny of the earth. That we once were so great in number that laws had to be put in place to breed only the successful and to weed out those who weren't strong enough or healthy enough or smart enough. And I guess that's where we went wrong.

Those in charge got this idea that, since only the strongest could survive, we needed a series of tests to determine who the lucky ones were. Tests to evaluate our strength, endurance, health, smartness, and anything else that could possibly be important to them. And, apparently, these tests were nearly impossible.

Once a child turned seven, he was automatically put on a waiting list to be evaluated in all of the above categories. The child would then have to complete an impossible obstacle course in a set amount of time. He would have to run seven miles through the mud and in the rain. He would have to pass a two-hundred question test with a score of one-seventy-five. Then, after all of that, the kid would be put through a health exam. any and all diseases were eradicated, if you had even a fraction of a percentage of a chance of carrying a disease... well you didn't last much longer.

I was told all of this by my father. His father was part of the last group to go through the tests. By then, our number had dwindled to the thousands and by the time my father was born, the hundreds. that's when they stopped the testing. The people in charge decided that we needed to rebuild the human race. Of course, it's their fault we were so little in number in the first place. But hey, who am I to judge?

Now everyone who is left alive can be found living in the same, twelve-mile radius, dome. Supposedly, it is there to protect us. to keep us safe from the bad guys outside. I think that's all a load of crap. How could there be bad guys when everyone is inside the dome?

Every morning, I wake up at sunrise to perform my daily chores. I ride my bike- the only acceptable form of transportation- from my house to the farm where fifty other kids all "volunteer" their mornings to prepare the crops and livestock for harvest. I pass by the same trees, the same houses, the same buildings every day. By now, its become habit to mentally pick out every flaw in every aspect of my journey to the farm. The chip in Mr. Smith's roof from the baseball that was smacked so hard by the adult team that it knocked off a large corner of his roof. The lack of paint on Mrs. Jones' fence because "it is not a necessity." The missing window in the office building that has been there since before the dome. The missing stones in the road that were apparently stolen by the Goodman kids to build a fort in their backyard.

"Charlie!" A shout from behind me. "Charlie wait up."

I sigh and pull my bike to the side of the road. Turning behind me I watch as Miley sprints to catch up with me. She is  three years younger than me and, with her mop of blond hair cropped short and her big, baby blue eyes looks about seven instead of her proud fourteen years.

"What's up Miles?" I ask once she catches up.

Out of breath, she bends over, placing her hands on her knees. "Did... you... hear?" she asks in between breaths.

I shake my head. "About what?" I usually don't know what is going on. especially since  prefer to hole up in my room with a good book or spend my days trotting the borders of the dome. With nothing but myself and my pet dog to keep me company.

"School's canceled today!" she exclaims having finally caught her breath. "Isn't that great?"

"Oh yeah," I remark. "Totally." Now I can take Star out for a run without being bothered by any of the annoying kids I usually have to put up with at school.