Breathe Wisely

A soft chirping slowly ricocheted throughout Anne’s home, reverberating off the four walls of her small, black pod. An artificial sunrise slowly brightened the space, mimicking that of a Portland lighthouse. Sweat dappled her forehead. Air conditioning was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

Paintings of trees, cabins, rivers and dusk mountain ranges haphazardly scattered her walls. She surrounded herself with them, knowing they were the closest she would ever get to nature. Her fridge hummed in the corner, next to a dish-filled sink and a half eaten plate of macaroni and cheese.

Anne didn’t have much. Climate change had put her and the rest of the world into what government officials were calling a “global heat dome.” Temperatures had surpassed the unsurpassable and once that 1.5 degree celsius range had been engulfed by the all consumed humans trying to stop it, the world started engulfing itself.

A buzzer sounded. Anne unbolted her door, put on the oxygen mask that hung to her left, and quickly grabbed the gallon tub of water and 2000 psi oxygen tank that awaited her. She poured half of the gallon of water into her bathtub and put the other half into the fridge.

Anne saved water this way. She barely bathed and instead used the bath as a trough. She would drink out of it, cook with it; it was a safety measure for her. She survived with what she could, just like the rest of the world. If you had a family, you were delivered two gallons of water. Two gallons no matter how big your family was. Two gallons was all the government allotted.

There’s nothing worse than watching someone slowly dehydrate. Emaciation due to dehydration.

A young mother runs out of breast milk to feed her newborn. They both die, one of starvation, the other of dehydration. Both have skin cracked from lip to brow.

A father living on a cup a day to ensure his wife and three children have the rest. Their cries produce screams and nothing else. It’s because of this that people stopped having kids. It was too hard to bring a life into a world that didn’t naturally maintain it.

The oxygen tank, on the other hand, had enough in it for 19.2 glorious minutes of outdoor exposure. Anne would normally go to the grocery hub and back, or visit a neighboring pod. Cities didn’t exist anymore. Compounds did. Anne lived one one of those, and each compound had a greenhouse that sustained the growth of its communities. That greenhouse (aka the grocery hub) allowed for wine, vegetable, fruit and egg production. Nut milks were readily available as were plant-based meats and cheeses. The market wasn’t so bad, it was just the life outside of it that was. At least she had wine. She would get a couple jugs of that.

Police don’t exist when there aren’t any crimes to commit. Houses could only be entered through the unique fingerprint of those that live there. And 19.2 minutes of activity a day doesn’t give much room for crime or any of its ancillary pleasures. Party lines and voting didn’t matter when survival became the only thing that did. Acclimation to the shifting oxygen levels had to happen with five years, and in that five years, the government decided to build their head quarters underground. One regime to rule all.

Anne went to her bathroom. She grabbed a glass and scooped out a cup of water, sipping it slowly. Above the tub was a mirror. Staring back at her she saw cavernous blue eyes. Her blonde lashes grew long. She used to coat them in mascara. She didn’t anymore. Freckles pattered her face and light blonde hair tousled it’s away down her back. She opened her mouth and evaluated her teeth. She had a gap between her two front ones. She shut her mouth.

Anne half-heartedly put her hair in a half up, half down updo and left it at that. She took her glass with her to the main room and sat on her green, raggedy couch. It had tears throughout the seat cushions, but it went nicely with the couch pillow she took from her childhood home. A home that she would never return to.

She opened her laptop and then shut it. Boredom never ceased to amaze her. She decided to go to the hub.

It normally took her 7 minutes to get there and 7 minutes to get home. If she was lucky, she would have 5 minutes left to sit on her stoop and look at the world she now lived.

Gazing at the carnage on her walk gave her a certain kind of anxiety and thrill. Desolation hung in the air like smog. It felt thick and heavy, but you couldn’t know it was there unless you backed away and saw it in its in totality.

Dirt was everywhere. Wind was, too. To her left, rows of tiny black pods ran endless. To her right, it was the same. Straight ahead of her was the path to the greenhouse. If you squinted hard enough, you could see it hovering in the distance, like a dark cloud.

The sun loomed heavy overhead. If she was lucky, Anne would time out her excursions to see the sunset. But time was irrelevant now. She couldn’t use it the way she wanted.

Anne looked down to check her oxygen. Five minutes had passed. Just two minutes until she could get inside and reserve what was left.

She went to look back up at the her path but it was too late. She hit something hard and flew back.

The wind knocked out of her. She rolled to her side, gasping for breath. The sweet, red metal tank lay next to her, hissing. It wasn’t supposed to be there, she thought, scrambling for it. Oxygen escaped out of it’s mouth quickly. Her oxygen. Minutes disappeared before her. It felt like a plastic bag was over her head. Stale air capsized her lungs. She couldn’t breath. She coughed, heaving heavily, and used all of her strength to inch closer to her lifeline. But another hand was grabbing it. Another hand fumbled towards her and grabbed the tube from her mouth.

As the figure loomed overhead, a gold locket dangled in front of her, reflecting the sunlight into her retina. She squinted at the glare. It was the last thing she saw as the person ran away with her future.