All the color leeched out of the world after the last war. Most of the people died out. Entire cities became ghost towns practically over night. The artificial separations like color, race, and religion became irrelevant against the great unifier survival. Not all at once, and not without their death throes, but when it became evident that most people were infertile and what was left of humanity was dying out by inches, the desperate struggle to continue their existence forced people to realize the pettiness of their squabbles.
For a while, it was like a golden age of cooperation and brotherhood. People worked together, sharing the fruits of their labors. What did it matter if you were a Christian or a Muslim if neither of you had enough fertile women to continue your line? Or enough uncontaminated food to keep from wasting away? Science mattered, not which holy book's words comforted you in the orange glow of the night sky.
The food supply was stabilized and purification methods invented that helped minimize the contamination. Fertility was still extremely limited, but they had a solution for that, as well. And if it was necessary to apply the careful techniques of animal husbandry to the task of raising fertile woman to ensure future generations, well, it was easy to accept that burden. Especially for the men and infertile women making the decisions.
Gen rested her hand against the chill material of the window. It was clear and allowed her to see the world outside, but thick like the glass of an aquarium so that everything was oddly distorted. The world was painted in shades of grey and brown. She'd read about grass and trees in her studies, but had only seen such things in faded photographs or paintings. When the confinement became too unbearable, she liked to close her eyes and imagine dew gathered on the tip of a leaf, poised just before dropping. She'd seen the image in a poster once and it struck her as a perfect moment captured and preserved.
Preserved like she was preserved. She pulled her hand away from the window and turned her back to the view. Normally, she loved to watch the play of the light against the wood of the deck that surrounded this side of the facility, admiring the shadows as the stretched across the faded, silvery boards like searching fingers straining towards a prize. Her heart just wasn't in it today. She paced the room, walking a slow circuit that drew her ever closer to the center, and then back out again. Waiting.
The sleeveless gown she wore was made of grey material trimmed in dark blue. She paused in her pacing to look down at her toes peeking out from the bottom hem. If the tests came back positive, her wardrobe of grey and blue would be replaced with one of white and red so that all could know of her forthcoming blessing. If it came back negative again, she would be given work clothes and shipped away from the facility to one of the work colonies and labelled an Infertile.
Her feet carried her unconsciously back to the window and she squinted out through the thick glass at the empty countryside beyond, her heart torn in two. She had been bred, raised and protected from the poisons of the world in this careful crucible of science. Fed and clothed and educated, she had never wanted for anything - except the feel of the wind pulling on her hair. Or the sound of the rain striking the ground.
Her hand strayed to her abdomen, hidden by the straight drape of the dress. If she was pregnant, she would never know those things. She would live out the rest of her life in this facility, bloodlines carefully maintained and crossed for optimum genetic health and potential. She would have children, babies, and know the terrible and wonderful love of motherhood. She would never know hunger or want for anything. She would never know freedom.
And she did want to be a mother. She'd heard other women speak of it - of the quickening, of feeling their babies grow inside of them, of the closeness of having their babies in their arms. She remembered, somewhat vaguely, the comfort she felt when her own mother held her before she was sequestered. The brush of soft lips on her forehead as they were parted. She longed for that closeness.
But she'd also heard that those on the outside could touch others. They could embrace. They could even, so the rumor went and usually with a lot of furtive whispering and nervous giggles, have sex. But they could never have children. They could never return to the facility. It was hard in the world. Rations were strictly enforced and illness was prevalent. A frightening thought for Gen, who had been so well cared for and sheltered. Still, she'd heard the rumor that there were birds once again showing up in the skies - birds hadn't been seen in this part of the world for more than four decades - and she yearned to see them fly.
Gen gave a start as a booming voice came over the intercom, "Report." She scurried over to the far wall, hiding her hands behind her back so that they wouldn't see her shaking. The wall raised up and she saw the medical triumvirate behind the revealed glass. She tried to read her fate in their faces, but nothing was given to her. "We have your results," it was the center doctor speaking - an older woman with grey hair who had probably never been outside of the facility herself. "You are to be moved," Gen's stomach suddenly felt like lead and she swayed where she stood. The head doctor's expression flickered a little with concern and she repeated, "You are to be moved to the pre-natal ward. Congratulations, Ms. Collins. You have joined the ranks of the Fertile Women."
Gen didn't hear anything more the doctor might have said, because she fainted dead away at the news.
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I'm not really sure where I was going with this one, to be honest. Except that the lack of color in the picture made me think of something desolate. And then there's the mental desolation of daylight savings time beginning. Oy.
Almost forgot the word count.
World Count: 1017
YTD: 4936
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