Domes

After hundreds of years, they figured out how to muffle the echoes. When thousands are in an uproar though, there's little anyone can do about the deafening sound bouncing off the glass. It seemed like a minuscule problem, really, compared to the others of this world. One would think they would predict this complication when they built the Domes. Yet they didn't, and so I lay here, drowning in the aftereffects of my actions. I don't feel any regret, though. Cold indifference and a touch of satisfaction fill me to the brim.

The roaring of the throngs outside keeps me from hearing the approaching footsteps till they're right at my door. Sitting up, I sigh. I knew he was coming, had expected it, predicted it. Sure enough, seconds later, Zed steps through the doorway, all muscle, brawn, and bitterness. Bitterness that I, ten years younger than him, got the job instead of him. Bitterness that I, joining only three years ago, have a higher position than him. Bitterness that I'm better than him.
His deep baritone fills the room, congratulating me on my success, though the taste of resent lingers thickly in the air. I shoot a smirk at him, and its all he can do to keep himself back. He gruffly informs me that Will requested my presence and that I best be up there in five, or its the streets for me. Grinning dryly at the hopefulness in his tone, I dismiss him with a wave.
Will is waiting in the Conference Room, a long chamber on the top floor of Headquarters. Will named the room, fancying himself all uppity like those richies that float across the surface. But we all know the truth. Coming from the slums just like the rest of us, no amount of straight collars nor richie mannerisms will change who Will really is.

He gestures to the chair beside him, and I take it, lounging back as he begins to speak. Numerous congratulations and well-dones spill from his lips (You did marvelous, Kaleb, simply splendid), but soon enough his felicitations turn to preaching. Killing the vice president was extremely beneficial, he tells me, and its only a matter of time before the government is in pieces. Will continues on to remind me that we have to let off them for a bit, let them believe they have a light chance, so the final victory is all the more sweet.
We're building them up just to tear them down.





The market is overflowing today, the recent murder having everyone in a frenzy for days. I wrestle my way through the crowds, and finally make it to my destination. Around Old Tassie's stand the throng is no thinner, but I luckily dont get caught in the currents as I sort through her various crates of weapons. After greeting me excessively, (Kaleb Arrison! Where have you been, my dear boy?) Tassie cheerfully chats away about how it must be storming above the surface today, and what an absolutely terrible backache she had last night, and whatever else old people talk about. Shuffling through ammunition, I smile to myself as she rambles on. The conversation soon switches to the assassination of the vice president, though, and I grit my teeth and swallow back the "I'm sorry"s threatening to emerge. She rants about the idiocy of young people these days, how they need to learn to recognize the difference between good and bad things in this world, and that murdering a high up government official is definitely not a good thing. Tassie's always had an unwavering loyalty to the government, and nothing I say or do can change that.

Just as I collect my last bullet, a small form collides into me, and I jolt forward, dropping my ammo and knocking over rows of grenades. I sigh, and sink to the ground to gather the scattered explosives. Repeated apologizes are uttered behind me, and dainty, feminine hands join mine in the dirt. Glancing up, I'm immediately met by a head of red unruly curls. The girl notices my attention, and a sheepish smile flits across her lips.

We finish cleaning up the various projectiles, and return them to their rightful places. As I pay Tassie for my ammo, I study the girl out of the corner of my eye. She's small, all eyes and legs. Light lashes frame large, viridescent orbs and her long, thin limbs are a pale porcelain hue. It's not tilk we leave Tassie's that she speaks. She shyly repeats and apology, and when I don't bite her head off like I'm sure she expected me to, she begins coaxing a conversation out of me. We exchange names (She tells me her name is Cobalt, like the element), and she asks me every question under the sun. Responding appropriately to each, I ask my own questions sometimes, and occasionally throw in a sarcastic remark. Peering through the glass to watch the fish swim past, we walk along the perimeter of our sector, conversing about anything and everything.




I stride confidently into the Conference Room to find dozens of pairs of eyes staring at me. Smirking at them, I take the empty seat beside Will. There is more people here than the usual meeting attendants, most likely an effect of our quickly approaching victory. Will stands and gives a quick opening speech before sitting down once more, and starting the usual Presentation. Every month we have a meeting, and at every meeting we watch the Presentation. Will's always shown us this documentary to remind us what we're living, fighting, and dying for.

The large screen at the front on the room comes to life, and we all watch in silence as various video clips are shown. Hundreds of pieces of our history flash across the screen, and it feels like we're watching a life in fast-forward. First the Great War, (centuries ago, people – back when humans lived above water – had a nuclear war and the bombs jostled the earth, bringing it ever-so-slightly closer to the sun), next The Melting (the ice burgs melted), then The Migration (humans took cover under huge glass domes), and everything in between.
The Presentation then shows humans uniting under one government to survive, and our society's richer individuals, over time, building large ships to live on the surface, while the working class and below lived in the Domes. Desperate for scientists to help return the earth to its natural placing, the government began to issue standardized tests each year to all ten year olds, in order to fish out the geniuses of each generation and place them in specialized training. All this is broadcasted on the screen, and the last video of a child waving goodbye to her family slowly fades into black. Across the oversized screen, a message is printed:
That was 167 years ago, and since then, our planet has not moved once.
It fades back to pictures of men, and a voice tells us how our organization sent spies into our government, and we have evidence to suspect that the government possesses the power to move the earth back, but they dont want to waste money to do that, especially since they're up there sitting pretty, floating across the surface, while we're stuck under water. It all comes down to greed and selfishness – what the government can do, and what it will do.

The scenes on the Presentation change, photos of families flitting across the screen instead of spies. Angry muttering spreads through the room as people catch sight of their murdered families, and I dig my nails into my palms as a very familiar blonde-hair blue-eye family is projected. They look the same as always. My father was still alive at the time of the picture, and there he stood, holding Ani's small hand with his other arm wrapped around my mother, who held Baby Lea. Gus, Ethan, Dom, Tatiana, Tessa and I are all lined up in front. The sight of my deceased family brings back a torrent of unhappy and unwanted memories and I brace myself as they, yet again, drown me.




The sector was barely lit, yet our home was already up and running. Cries, screams, laughter, and giggles ricocheted through our home, no doubt waking all the neighbors. That was the usual, though. Six-year-old Lea rose early, and if she was up, everyone was up. Ma cooked in the kitchen while trying to placate Ani and Gus, who were arguing over a small metal toy. Tatiana was busy pinning up signs around the house to advertise for the small shop she had created, and Tess, Dom, and Ethan could be heard out front. I slung my bag over my shoulder and waved goodbye to my mother, ignoring her pleas for me to stay at least till breakfast with a small smile on my face. Ever since Pa had died six years ago when I was eight, I took care of everyone. I was the man of the house, as Pa had called me just before he gave into the disease that had been eating away at his body. I slipped through the quiet streets and made my way to the mining sector.
After nine hours, my shift ended at the mines. Mining was the lowest of the low, and you had to take a small shuttle through the open ocean every day to arrive at the mining site, but it paid just enough. I received a few extra coins today for working overtime, and so with the kids in mind I stopped at the sweet shop near our house for a few candy sticks. Pocketing the candy, I rounded the corner to our street, only to stop suddenly.
Where my house had previously stood, there was a pile of melted metal and ashes. Smoke obscured everything, but there, in front of my home, I made out eight figures lying in a heap, all burnt and charred to the point where there corpses were virtually unrecognizable.




I run into Cobalt again. We go to the park and stroll through the metal sculptures, commenting on the architecture. Suddenly she turns and stares me in the eye.
"You have a gun in your pocket," she tells me.
"I do," I answer.
And that's that.



A few days later I meet her again, this time for lunch. It's here that she asks me if I'm a part of the Rebellion, and I snort at the name the government has given us, but nod my head. After a few minutes of silence, Cobalt tells me she supports the government. Her voice sounds so assured and certain, I can't help but ask why. Shrugging, she asks me why I'm rebelling. We're both silent after that.





The organization is starting to bring people in. They're always wearing gray tunics and leggings when Will brings them to me, but judging by the neatly trimmed cheeks and shaggy heads, some are members of the government, while others are from the streets. I never spot any richies, though. Richies are always easy to sort out – they always have the hardness of greed in their eyes. None of the people I'm brought have that glint in their terrified eyes.
I cut off these observations and pull the trigger, watching another gray clad now-corpse fall to the ground, a picture perfect coin size hole smack dab over his heart.
After three years without looking back, why do I suddenly doubt?




"They killed my family. The government burnt my family and my home to ashes."
Cobalt's eyes fill with pain, and she embraces my motionless body. Stroking my back, she mutters a few "Oh Kaleb"s. When she finally pulls away, she asks me how I know it was the government. I tell her I saw the footage, and why wouldn't they? At age ten, my test came out with flying colors, and when I refused to take their special courses so I could care for my family, they had been less than happy.
"Footage?" she asks, and I explain how the organization hacked the sector's cameras, and I had watched the navy uniforms spill gasoline all over my home, heard my family's screams, saw the metal shrivel and melt. Cobalt wonders aloud why the organization did that for me, and I tell her about how they came to me just months before the burning and asked me to join them because they had heard about my test grades and how I'd turned down the government. They had spun me a story about how the government is corrupt, and that they know the truth. I turned them down then, not believing them, but when they returned after the fire, I joined. Once I finish, Cobalt is silent for a while, and then she just murmurs another "Oh Kaleb" and leaves.




I ask Will why I'm killing all these people. He responds with because you won't break, and walks away. Either he didn't understand my question, or avoided it on purpose.




Cobalt shoves a tablet into my hands. "A list of all the people the government has killed in the last few years," she tells me. I scroll through the 'A' last names, and when I can't find my surname, I go through 'B' too, then 'C'. I search the whole list three times.
Arrison isnt on it.




We have another meeting today. There's even more people in attendance this time. I zone out during the Presentation, for once in three years not being the attentive prodigy. Cobalt's list is on my mind, and I wonder how she got it, and if it's authentic. If so, is anything in my life true?
After the Presentation, Will stands up to address us. It's been more than a month, he says, and the government is feeling less threatened. We should strike in their moment of weakness, before they realize their blunder and correct it. Everyone applauds, and Will announces that I'm to be the one to kill the president. He asks me to stay after the meeting to discuss the plans, and I nod in a stupor.




"Why are you supposed to be killed?" I whisper in a prisoner's ear, holding a gun to his chest.
"Because I know the truth," he responds.
I reel back, and quickly send a bullet through his heart.
Since when did we kill people for knowing the truth?




Will hands me a pistol, informing me its the one I will use to kill the president tomorrow. Tomorrow. He's all smiles and laughs today, cracking jokes and crinkling the tan skin around his eyes. At least the upcoming murder has one of us in a good mood.




Cobalt asks me whats wrong.
"I think I'm about to do something unforgivable," I tell her quietly.
"Just do whatever you think is right," she replies.
"What if I choose wrong?"
"You won't."
She says it with so much certainty, that a tiny piece of me starts to believe her.





I mentally prepare myself as I sneak down the hall, pistol held alert in front of me, footsteps less than a whisper. Moonlight spills in through the tall, grand windows and I try to keep to the shadows, my heart racing everytime I hear a sound. I have been on tons of missions before, but none, not even my first, spooked me this much. The hairs on the back of my neck are raised, and goosebumps cover my skin. The halls are terrifyingly empty, due to the gala being held just downstairs right this minute. A guard never once patrols the halls though. Apparently, Will was right. The government really is getting cocky. Stupid fools.
I approach the president's office carefully, and upon reaching it, frown at the sight of the five soldiers standing guard.
Will said there would be two.
I shrug it off, and silently take down three with my pistol. The other two become alert instantly, and one throws himself at me, tackling me to the ground, while the other begins speaking frantically into his radio. With a grunt, I shove the man off me. After swiftly sending a bullet at him, I kick the feet out from under the other man, knocking him to the floor and causing him to drop the radio. He turns to me with a knife in his hand and I grab it, splitting open my palm as I take it right out of his grip.
I stand and bash him on he head with the butt of my pistol, not wanting to use my last bullet. Throwing open the doors to the president's office, I stalk in. The head of our government sits behind a stainless steel desk, bent over a tablet. Besides the desk and a leather couch, the room is bare, with moonlight filtering in through the large windows.
"Stand up," I command, raising my pistol.
He stays silent, and rises to his feet.
Shuffling is heard behind me, and I turn slightly to see Will saunter into the room, lock the doors behind him, and wipe his hands off on his suit.

"Good, good," he says, observing our position. "Perfect, Arrison. This is it. Just do it."
Just do it.
I'm turned sideways, half facing Will and half facing the president. Pictures flash through my mind, and I feel like I'm watching the Presentation, but instead of pieces of our history, its pieces of this past month. I see Tassie, ranting about the idiocy of today's young people, and Cobalt, asking me about the "rebellion". I see the prisoners, with their gray clothes and neat beards. Then, I remember the navy uniforms pouring gas all over my home, and my family's burnt corpses. These images are counteracted with Cobalt's tablet, but then I'm reminded again of who took me in when I was fourteen year old boy, all alone. The images start coming faster, and finally I steel myself, turn, raise my pistol, and pull the trigger.

The End.

Hi guys, so this is just a short story I wrote a couple years ago, and I decided to publish it. Tell me what y'all think :)

xoxo

Lea