Ah, the 4th of July – the holiday in which you are allowed to celebrate your pride in America in direct proportion to how many explosives you decide to light fire to this evening. Of course, that doesn’t mean people don’t like to start the festivities early!
I’ve heard people shooting off fireworks for the last few days now, but last night, I was in the sweltering heat, listening to the pops and crackles when I was inspired to write something. Here it is – a brief introduction inso some (predictably) dystopian future in which there is (of course) a war taking place. It may not be the most original dystopian setup you’ve ever read, but it beats trying to write something legitimately 4th of July related. Enjoy!
Bombs exploding overhead, ricocheting off the impenetrable, translucent dome, sparks and debris filling the sky above more determinedly than the stars or the clouds that veil them, the soft melody of precisely stuck piano keys floating from the bar down the street, more peacefully listened to on the tread-worn streets than amidst the rancorous shouts and sorrowful cries from the bar patrons themselves, and an exhaustion that hangs almost palpably in humid midnight air, however little of it is left – this is ordinary, but it was not always so.
As he leans on railings of his apartment’s ten by three foot balcony, a lit cigarette slowly burning to ash between his calloused fingers, this is what Roy thinks about: a time when the city’s defensive dome was a thing of rumor and skepticism rather than a thing of dire need, a time when music and musicians were listened to with anticipation and joy instead of with a beer in hand and a need to escape reality, a time when clean air, not recycled oxygen pumped through the dome’s lower walls, was plentiful, when living in the city didn’t mean death by eventual suffocation and when leaving the city didn’t mean death by incineration, a time before this seemingly endless war.