What the Sun Told Us

A lever had been pulled.

Overnight, it was as if a switch had been flipped in my mind-- a feeling of my psyche igniting, a dull slice of flint finally striking the coals correctly. The feeling came as a sloshing in my stomach. It came as a clairvoyant vision of the earth above me crumbling. It came as a dream of a robin flying with faded paper in it’s mouth with the simple words, scrawled in grey ink, “Seven Days.”

Of course, it was nonsensical of me to dream of a sky I’d never seen-- but there it was, floating in my consciousness for a dim eight hours, a striking bright blue with gloomy gray clouds. And the words the robin carried stayed imprinted into my retinas as I stared at the dirt ceiling above my bed, as I picked myself up and got dressed. A sandalwood brown uniform-- everywhere I looked, it was the same.

As I stepped into the main corridor, people were already busy at work. The engines were humming, I could hear the pipes up to the surface rushing. To my surprise, the most fervent worker I knew, Lea, was idly leaning against a break table, breathing slowly and deeply. As I approached her, her eyes lazily lifted to meet mine. “Good morning,” she sighed. “I guess you caught me slacking off.”

“For once,” I added. “You look really tired today. That’s definitely not something I’m used to seeing.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. It kind of feels like I’m still dreaming right now,” she replied, shifting her weight further onto the table. I began to lean besides her, swiping a hand through my hair.

“Whatever happened to ‘working your way to the surface?’” I asked hesitantly.

“I get a feeling it doesn’t really matter anymore,” she answered with a half laugh, finally sitting completely down on top of the table, a carefree expression about her. Her hair was barely done, the light brown curls falling out of their low ponytail. I could imagine her getting dressed in the morning-- carelessly pulling her clothes over her head, similar to the way I had done it. I also got the feeling that such things didn’t really matter anymore.

“If you could have one day, hypothetically, up on the surface,” I began, “What would you do?”

“Hmm,” she pondered, a child-like smile overcoming her features, “I would find the thickest grass around,” she closed her eyes, her smile widening, “And roll through it. I’ve heard that some of the noble kids up there get yelled at for things like that. When they roll down hills.” I chuckled at her-- her honeyed smile fell slightly as she looked to me and asked, “What about you?”

Without hesitation, I said, “I want to see a bird. Or a star. It’d be nice to be one of those lucky people who can find a four-leafed clover on their first try.” Her smile quickly left her face, instead replaced by a somber downcast glance.

“You know,” she said, “I heard someone ran away from here once. Got tired of being the slaves of society and got out for a few hours.” I gave her a knowing glance before she continued. “They got caught. Killed on sight.” It was a story I already knew, but I wasn’t surprised she had been thinking about it. I had been thinking about it too. “You know,” she went on, looking at me skeptically. “I really get a feeling that things like that don’t really matter anymore.”

“I do too,” I reassured her, sighing. “I’m even thinking about going.” It was lucky no guards were around us-- we were far from the ladders up. The next few days would be oddly calm, yet exciting and melancholic.

At the end of the second day, we heard the first signs of chaos. Apparently it had begun raining an awful acid rain that would stop at nothing. It consumed and flooded houses, it poured poison into the mouths of children. Painless deaths, but deaths nonetheless.

At the end of the third day, a strange disease began spreading above-- it caused it’s victims to fall unconscious for hours before dying in their sleep. Although the entire underground was safe, humanity withered nonetheless.

By the end of the fifth day, half of the population had been completely wiped out, including many of the underground workers who were unfortunately stationed near the guard posts, who carried the disease and poisons down with them. At this five day mark, however, all signs of acid rain and sleep disease were gone.

At the end of the sixth day, many of the engines underground began experiencing problems. Those who still worked diligently perished in explosions, or sometimes even suffocated from ventilation malfunctions. Lea and I were both still alive, and when our eyes met occasionally in the corridors, we would always stop and speak for a little while, half mindlessly bantering, half vaguely planning and hinting.

On the dawn of the seventh morning, I woke up earlier than I ever had before. Staring at my dirt ceiling, I pictured the entire underground collapsing, sifting into nothing like sand. I quietly exit my room, making out Lea’s soft silhouette in the remaining nighttime blackout. We walked quickly together, an hour outside of where we would usually ever be. We weren’t surprised that the guards weren’t at their stations at this time in the morning-- it seems they were also aware of what was to come. I helped her up onto the ladder leading up and slithered in after her.

At the top of the ladder was a thick metal hatch, already half opened from whoever left before us. Lea softly pushed it upwards, revealing a frantic, spiralling sunrise. As we climbed out, we were welcomed by the feel of lush, dewy grass against our thin cotton slippers. The enraged breeze slapped against our bodies and blew our hair-- it was the most refreshingly painful sense I’d ever experienced.

A few other people met us at the surface, but none cared about our presence. Rather, Lea rolled through the grass. I counted the last stars in the sky and searched for clovers when they all left. I plucked at the earth and threw rocks. I stared at the striking blue sky and cried. And as it came closer and closer to high noon, I pulled Lea close to me. I whispered to her, softly, “You know,” as she smiled lightly, “I heard that they used to yell at the noble kids for staring at the sun too long.”

As we stared at our new, sunny ceilings, a small figure caught my attention. In my peripheral vision, there stood a robin. It did not hold any paper in it’s mouth, but rather an implication. Rather than “Seven Days,” the robin squawked and screamed, “Last chance.” As I stared back at the raging sun, I rested my head gently upon Lea’s shoulder, exhaling onto her chin. My eyes watered from the light-- all rationality in me told me to close them, or look away, but I refused. We stared at the massive, glowing sun with tear-glazed eyes and dilating pupils, without breath. We watched as it expanded and spun, swirling with rage, cursing at humanity with its color and beauty. We watched silently as it exploded and devoured the Earth and took all of us with it.