The Omnipresence of Divine Death

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. Lying on her back, Eislyn could only see half of the misty glass. Eislyn relies on her brother to leave the shutters to the window open every morning. The view is just enough to remind her of the color of the sky, although she has long forgotten what the clouds look like. The other half of the window is hidden by Kimon’s shutters which he closes delicately every morning before he leaves for work in the tunnels. He never shuts it completely though. In the deep recesses of his mind, he imagines a world where his sister could free herself from the medicine that courses through her veins just as fervently as the synthetic blood that pumps through her heart–the last natural organ in her body. The medicine to her was like sun to the plants. Today, there are no traces left of such greenery. There are no other forms of life on the surface. Eislyn and her brother read stories of a different world, one that could only be experienced in their dreams.

Though its walls were bare and floors empty of furnishings, the compartment was unique. Normally, it was illegal to have windows to allow light in from the outside, but they had a window. It was the only one issued to them from the government. It was a gift from Eislyn’s donar. Their rooms weren’t separated by physical walls like other homes but instead by height. Her brother’s room was a platform that extended off the far right section of the metal compartment about twenty feet in the air. Her sleeping platform rested on the floor of the opposite side of the enclosed bay. It was flat and lined with metallic sheets that rubbed her skin. Sometimes, the covers would cause rashes to break out on her arms and legs. They had no other medicine. There was nobody to deliver therapeutic herbs and remedies. She silently suffered, but she endured the pain day by day as long as she was able to dream.

Most days he left her alone for too long. She understood that it was part of the contract. Working underground took a heavy toll on Kimon’s mind and body, but he relied on her to stay alive so the lights would stay on and the IV drip therapy would continue to fuel their systems with vitamins and liquid meals. Days would pass and then weeks would float by. When the loneliness began to weigh heavy on her chest, she would close her eyes and press the button beside her bed. Her arms would slacken and then her legs and lastly her neck. Sleep rolled over her entire body in rolling waves. When it reached her nose, the sleep jumped towards the metal ceiling like a magnet to a steel plate. With sleep came silence, and Eislyn forgot about the lost time.

The window was their entity. A being so profound that the siblings would silently pray to it before they succumbed to a sleep of blackness. When they woke each day, they would look to the window to color their days with some light, any light at all. They would imagine how warmth would feel on their skin. It had been years since Eislyn had seen the light let alone felt its warmth. The sun, a dim sphere that resided in the sky, was almost dead. It barely pulsated with energy and no longer radiated with power as it once did thousands of years ago.

In the beginning, man stripped the earth of its trees. Their titanium machines tore open the ground and the industrial factories rid the soil of its natural fertility. Then the animals began to die. Thin, skeletal wildlife littered the grounds and permanently tainted the ocean waters. When the water sources became too toxic for consumption, man turned away and looked to the oceans as a saving grace. Little life remained when the oceans drained away. The scientists from the old-world were right, for the sun’s light eventually faded away. What light was left was enough for man to retreat underground and start life anew.

Eislyn’s donar, the government head of the old-world, is dead and has been for many years now. She misses her father. Not for inciting the wrath of God on the world or even raping the world of its water–she misses the moments when he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her against his chest when she tried to fall asleep. He would whisper sweet, consoling words in her ear and brush his fingers through her hair to sooth her beating heart. It was the only time that he felt like a father to her. When she lay imobile in her bed, he would lie next to her. Amidst the bombings outside of their home and the fires and floods, he would lie next to her. When the drowsy darkness filled her eyes and draped its heavy body along her own, she would reach out and take his hand. Intertwining her fingers within his, she would pray to a God that didn’t exist.

When the alarms blare at 0700, their bodies lurch forward. Consciousness began to roll around in the chaos of their minds. The consciousness, as if it were a living breathing unit of its own, would toss its arms wildly and shake the core of what modicum of freedom they had left. When the chemicals finally leave their bodies, their eyes open. They live another day away from the land of dreams.