Twin
Donald was in the process of fixing dinner, or rather, he was opening cans and dumping the contents out onto the two plates sitting on the small table. The light from the battery powered lamp threw dim shadows on the walls.
“When do you suppose this will end?” asked Lacey trying to see out the small opaque, round window. It was pointless, though. The window filter wasn’t made to be opened. “It’s already gone on longer than before.” It had lingered for a week previously, then stopped for two days before coming back worse than ever.
Donald eyed her. “Since it’s lasted this long, you know the score as well as I. Come on, eat your dinner. It’s time for the daily broadcast. Maybe there’ll be some news.” He clicked on the radio.
Lacey settled at the table and they picked at their food in silence, listening to the government announcer. Neither had an appetite.
“We’re now in day twenty of the crisis,” came the generic male voice of the announcer. “Again, no one should go outside unless entirely necessary, and all filters should be kept in place. According to Dr. Horton Sullivan of the Department of Meteorology at the Miller Institute, there is some disagreement among scientists as to how long this will persist. It is agreed though, that if all citizens follow the directives, they will remain safe and unharmed until the danger is over.”
The radio went silent. The broadcasts were never long but this was the shortest and the most useless message they’d gotten to date. Disgusted, Donald reached over and turned it off.
The two meteorologists stared at each other.
“We need to look,” said Lacey, quietly. Donald agreed.
They got up from the table and went to the door. Donald gripped the top edge of the filter and when Lacey nodded, he pulled it open.
Lacey stuck her head out, stared up and quickly drew it back in. Tears coursed down her cheeks, leaving tracks in the sooty film covering her face. She wiped her burning eyes with a sleeve, smearing the residue. She held her breath against the foul air being admitted. Donald looked intently at the sky then hurriedly slammed the filter shut. He and Lacey stared at each other again, dirty faces ashen.
Some few days had been better than others. More light, less smog, and easier breathing. But no more. With the filters in place, the air conditioning inside their smog survival capsule would sustain them for a while longer, and they had plenty of canned food. But to what purpose? The hazy, silvery orb in the darkened, roiling skies told them what they already knew in their hearts: the danger would never be over. The inversion was worsening, becoming permanent. It wasn’t clearing. The moon was gone, and soon, the sun would not be visible either.
And it never would be seen again, as all life expired in a man-made heat death, and Earth became a twin to Venus.
End
