Kassy Tayler: Remnants of Tomorrow

If only we had the ability to look at our lives in advance and know which path to take. I suppose that would take all the mystery and maybe even the joy out of life. How can we appreciate what we have if it all comes easily? Is it something worth having if it does not come with trials and tribulations? Do we take the things we are used to for granted? Things like food, water, and air? Things like freedom?

I know now that I did not really appreciate what I had, even with all the problems that came with it. I had thought myself a prisoner of the dome and its society before I escaped. That was before I knew what real freedom was. Freedom was my ability to choose. I chose to leave the dome. I also chose to come back inside, even though I knew there would be risks involved. Even though every fiber of my being cried out to me to stay outside. Perhaps in my heart I did know what the best decision was and I just ignored it.

Or maybe I just have a habit of making terrible decisions. The last one I made led to this. Are Pace and Levi locked up also? I believe Pace intended all along to stay inside, because he was worried about his mother but also because he knew I was conflicted about my feelings for both him and Levi. To Pace, choosing to stay inside meant I wouldn’t have to choose between them. Pace thinks he is considerate that way, taking the decision away from me, so I wouldn’t have to deal with it. Right now I hate him for it.

I don’t know why Levi surrendered. Maybe he thought that because he was an outsider to our world that my father would value him as a hostage. Maybe he thought that because he was a prisoner of my father, his uncle, Lyon Hatfield, would be that much more determined to rescue all of us instead of leaving us to our fates. All the things I don’t know greatly outnumber the one thing that I know for certain.

I am a prisoner in my father’s house.

“Got in a bit of trouble last night I see.” The woman, Ellen, is the only other person I’ve seen since I arrived here, except for Findley. She smiles in satisfaction when she sees the chain around my ankle. I sit up and push my hair out of my eyes as she sets my breakfast tray on the table and leaves, knowing full well that I won’t be able to reach it. I throw a pillow at the door as I hear the key turn in the lock and flop back down on the bed.

How long will I be stuck here? Some people might scoff at the idea that the room I inhabit is a prison, but there are locks on the door, and no matter how luxurious it is, the fact that I cannot come and go as I please makes it a prison. It does not matter that I have a wide comfortable bed piled high with exquisitely soft linens or shelves full of leather-bound books or a wardrobe full of clothes made of satin and velvet. Or even the fact that there is a water closet attached to my room for my exclusive use. It is still a prison. For the Hatfields outside the dome and the royals within, the wonderful things in my room are a part of their everyday life. Before I was invited onto Lyon Hatfield’s airship, I never dreamed such things existed. Today I would gladly trade all the luxuries that surround me just to be able to leave this place.

The smell of food makes my stomach rumble in hunger. That reminds me that I need to use the water closet. How long will I be chained to the bed? The sound of the key turning in the lock gives me some hope. Findley comes in with two men behind him, both carrying boards. They glance my way and then just as quickly ignore me as Findley probably instructed them to do. Their faces are pale and gaunt and their clothes hang on their frames. They must be hungry. How many more people in the dome are hungry now? Certainly not the royals. Nor am I. While I am not given a lot, I am given enough.

One goes into the water closet and another to the tall window that overlooks the city. Findley comes to the bed and unlocks the chain around my ankles.

“What are you doing?” I ask suspiciously.

“Making sure you don’t try to kill yourself again,” he replies. He kicks the chain beneath the bed. I know he’s leaving it to remind me what will happen should I try to escape again. He goes to the water closet and motions the man inside to come out. “Give her a moment,” he says, then he turns to me. “Do I need to come in there with you?”

I shake my head. I don’t need any more humiliation at the moment. I hear the sound of pounding while I am inside and come out to find a board covering the bottom inches of the window and another one going up above it.

“Don’t,” I say. “Please…” I know I’ll go mad if I can’t see out. If I cannot see the light fill the dome. I hate begging, but in this case …

Findley sends the man back into the water closet and then looks at me for a long moment. I feel tears well in my eyes and I blink them back. I don’t want to seem weak, and I definitely don’t want him to know that this can be used against me. I have spent so much of my life in darkness. I don’t want to go back to that feeling, ever again.

“Leave one off,” Findley says to the man who works at my window. “Eye level so she can see out.”

I did not realize I was holding my breath until I let it out.

“Eat,” Findley instructs. “While it’s hot.”

Ignoring my food will only hurt me. But I feel guilty eating when the men are obviously hungry. My plate holds a piece of toast with a fried egg on it. I slice it in half and offer it to the man working on the window. He looks at Findley, tentatively, who nods his permission. He takes it and it is gone in three bites. “Thank ye,” he says with a bob of his head. I take the remaining half to the man in my water closet and offer it to him with a smile. He quickly gulps it down.

I am hungry, but my feeling in my heart makes the hunger seem insignificant. Findley merely shakes his head at my foolishness. I don’t care what he thinks. I sit back down at the table and watch as the room grows dimmer and dimmer with each board that goes into place. I do not need the light to see, but, still, I miss it. As long as I can see the light, I have hope.

I watch as the nails are pounded into the window frame. Long thick nails that I will not have a chance of pulling out. To make sure I know that, Findley pulls on each board to make sure it is secure, then he goes and checks the same in the water closet. He sends the men out and makes a big show of stowing the spoon I’d used as a tool into the inside pocket of his uniform. He leaves without another word, and the turning of the key in the lock echoes in my dark and lonely room.

I am trapped.

My window overlooks the royal side of the dome. Through the opening left between the boards I can see the privileged of our society as they walk the promenade in clothes of velvet and satin. The women carry parasols to shelter their faces from the tiny bit of sunlight that streams through the hole. I scoff at their foolishness. The sun is nowhere near them. Instead of looking stylish, they look ridiculous, protecting themselves from something they know nothing about. I have felt the sun on my skin, and I know that it burns. It also warms and gives me a sense of hope.

The royals stop and talk to one another as if much time has passed since their last meeting, yet I know they see the same people every day because nothing ever changes for them. They die and new ones are born, but the monotony of their lives is never-ending. The royals don’t know the agony of worry, and the not knowing that haunts people when someone they care about is gone from them. The royals continue to act as if their world has not changed at all, even though the fans do not run and part of their world has been destroyed.

How can they act as if nothing has happened when there is a hole in the dome that shows the sky? Don’t they wonder what is outside? Don’t they want to see it? How can they believe the lies about the flames when the proof is right above them? How can they be so frivolous that they carry on as if they don’t have a care in the world?