The Lifeless Light: A Tale from Dema

Chapter Two: Catching You Up to Speed

There is peace that comes with a structured day.

Normality: it's what these last nine years were defined by, coupled with the unwavering eagerness to serve the only world I knew. Yet the work I poured myself into never satisfied what I truly desired. I longed for something far greater than the confines of these walls. It led me to defy everything I'd ever known—and even then, the truth was not what I suspected.

For years, I started every day like the rest: waking up to the sound of the loud fog horn rumbling throughout the entire city and vibrating my chest. Then, my responsibilities began. I might've played a meager role in the righteousness of the Bishops' work, but the consistency grounded me.

All involved in this honor lived separate from the others, within the nine central towers—clustered together in the formation of a square, varied only by their height. My responsibilities ranged from filing records, to sweeping floors, to assisting my district's bishop in communication to the people. My lists of tasks changed every week as work was needed—the only variety in such a monotonous role, yet I mindlessly endured. 

And then, about every month, I aided in the preparations for the Annual Assemblage of the Glorified—the duties which ultimately prepared me for the turbulence to come in my simple life. Some might find it curious or disturbing how drawn I was to this ritual. It is etched as one of my earliest memories of the "honorable" work.

Death is an inevitable misfortune I was privileged to encounter regularly. When civilians passed on to the next life, I was one of the members who transferred their bodies from the Quiet Room to the Chamber of Ash underneath the towers.

These empty vessels were then laid on metal beds, surrounded by various red flowers, and then cremated as our customs decreed. We remained in a station within the chamber to control the burn, wearing gas masks so we could breathe through the smoke and ash.

Such an oddly fascinating sight—to watch as bodies made from dust return to their most basic state. The smell was putrid, although over time I came to disregard it. By then, I revered the scent. It was the aromatic mark of souls reaching beyond us to enter the next life.

I was pathetically unaware of the role I truly played in this morbid work.

Yet every day, I knew what to expect, and our responsibilities were completed with efficiency and precision. I relied on this dependability—driven by its sentiment. As a young man of common birth, working within the nine towers was one of the highest honors I could hope for.

But what happened suddenly in my ninth year of service altered my ambitions dramatically. My perspective of the world began to shift, like the setting of the sun ... or perhaps, its rising.

I remember it clearly, the moment where a strong revelation pierced my chest. It was evening, all was quiet within the towers' halls, and I had been bestowed the unfortunate task of cleaning up after the dinner bell rang. Gazing out of the window, I looked upon the clinical, dismal dwellings and streets below slowing down for the night. 

As I scrubbed the evening dishes at the kitchen sink, I became enamored with the wondrous horizon changing color every minute. Orange, to red, to pink ... now strokes of purple melted in.

Only Dema's strong circular perimeter wall stood in front of the mesmerizing sight. Yet in that moment, it wasn't a wall, but an obstruction. Taken by the horizon, I wondered for the first time what the view might look like from beyond this cold city.

And then my chest tightened. The thought bore into my mind until I couldn't stop thinking about it.

What lay beyond that dull gray wall?