Faylinn’s Chronicles: August 20, 2318

Standard

Friday is supposed to be my ROW80 or other type book review but I haven’t really finished anything yet! I am working on a couple novels so hopefully those will be up soon. I have been lax in getting Faylinn’s story written, I know where I want to go but not sure how to get there. And with a word count limit per serial it’s hard! This is an older post, sorry it’s not on the right day but I’m hoping to make that up shortly.  

 

 

Saturday, August 20, 2318

I’m not sure how many more entries I will be able to write. Drastic things have happened since last I placed pen to paper, the letter from Tybal was merely a drop in the bucket. I smooth out the page he sent me, written on a small square of paper. For some reason it is more precious than this journal. Yet, I also hate it.

Has it only been two days? Not even that, not yet, though it feels as though years have passed through my fingers.

Friday I made my choice. As I was standing there, about to cast my life to Fate, my tongue didn’t want to form the words my brain wanted to say. I had dreamt about my life in the private sector, the fresh food I’d be able to purchase instead of the tasteless nutritional bars and vitamin-fused drink powder I was rationed. The nicer clothes with fewer brands plastered across them that fit my shape better. I dreamed of a larger room, perhaps even big enough to dance in. But when the air passed through my vocal cords that were primed and ready to say “private sector” that wasn’t what emerged.

“Hygrodomes, please.” Much to the astonishment of upper management as well as myself. Then it was done, my life was ruined by a tiny scrap of crumpled paper and disobedient tongue. I barely had time to collect my meger belongings, to swipe white birds off high ledges, before I was shoved into an overcrowded bus like a can of sardines -the smell was fairly equivalent- and driven out of town to the far edges of the city. Far past the barricades still taunting us with it’s promises as it eats us with fear. The course of my life has changed so much over these past few weeks, I feel like a ball being haphazardously thrown by unfocused children. I don’t know where or when I’ll land. Though I know in the meantime I won’t be treated gently.

The processing center for the Hygrodomes is a stark white building with stark white innards. Genderless humans dressed all in white with large masks on heads and air tanks strapped to backs lead me with white gloves to a small area. Here I am stripped, scrubbed. My skin stings with anitbacterials, antifungals, antivirals. I gingerly smooth baggy white pants and shirt over red skin. They cut my hair off. I silently mourn my pretty hair, brown debris on a colorless floor.

I am genderless now, too.

I understand why they do this. The necessity that proceeded me here. Three hundred years ago our seed supply was gobbled up by corporations. They designed new, better seeds that could withstand drought, bugs, be immune to pesticides and herbicides, produce higher yields in smaller spaces with less work. It was a miracle product and all they had to do was tamper with God’s creation.

The corporations were a bit greedy though. When people started objecting to the food produced by these miracle seeds. They didn’t want their food contaminated by chemicals but there were starving people in the world. The arguments on both sides, much like political parties could never win over the other, at least not for long. So, the companies started buying the old seeds, the ones people kept for generation upon generation and destroying them until the only thing left was the miracle, magic seeds.

Which would have been alright I suppose, if we took care of those things. But as history has taught us, we can’t ever learn. One year, a virus mutated. And in the span of a few months time seventy five percent of the crop foods in the entire world were wiped out. Those that did survive, those that they mutated and engeneered further had to be grown in specific conditions inside sterile plants. They couldn’t touch dirt, or the sun, or the wind for fear that they, too, would be compromised.  

And the Hygrodomes were built. Far from the city in a restricted area, miles upon miles of white round blobs errupted from the dead black earth. They had their own power plants, food processing, police, hospitals. They were cities unto themselves and no one in the world could survive without them.

They were also a very scary place. One that parent’s threatened their children with when they misbehaived. “Clean your room or I’ll send you to work in the Domes!” Because once you went to the Domes, you never, ever left. Outside goverment wasn’t allowed inside for fear of contamination, there were no visitors. Everything was under lock and key with biometric scans and flash cards. Rules and regulations were read to me from a thick book. They gave me a copy. There were no windows anywhere, only a strange white glow that eminated from the high white dome above my head. I was lead to a small room with no furniture and told to wait, for what or whom I couldn’t guess.

And here I am, being processed into Hygrodome XXIV all because of a stupid note attached to a smile and a tratiorous tongue.

Advertisements

2 responses »

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s