I Would Sell My Soul for a Raindrop

“Breaking News: tonight saw yet another catastrophe unfolding in the western United States. Witnesses on the ground in several cities are describing the air as “unbreathable” and the environment “toxic.” Confirmed hospitalizations are numbering in the triple digits, and residents of more than a dozen cities are being instructed to shelter in place for the foreseeable future. More on this developing story after the break.”

Mari shook her head and picked up her phone to check the radius of the shelter in place order- she was ten miles outside of it. She sighed, she was going to work after all. From across the room, the news anchor’s voice faded into an advertisement featuring a man in a white lab coat urging audiences to talk to their doctor about an anti-depressant, which was apparently guaranteed to improve quality of life. The ad ended with a reminder that company insurance didn’t cover pharmaceuticals and a list of side effects that included depression. To avoid the inane commercials, Mari heaved up from the couch and made her way to the kitchen. Two years ago she would have made tea as she got ready for work, but she was perilously close to the end of her weekly allotted water, so she popped the tab of a company-approved energy drink and listened to the sirens wailing a few streets down. They sang her to sleep every night, and the gunshots, which promptly sounded in eight sharp cracks as she was pulling on her coveralls, were her constant companions in the mornings.

Yanking on her flimsy boots, she noticed the soles beginning to wear through, then cursed realizing she would need to charge her account at the company community market yet again for new ones. They would be her third pair this year, and between them and the new required coveralls, she hadn’t had a full paycheck since January. Stepping outside the apartment, Mari locked the door, then pulled the security gate closed, making sure all three deadbolts were engaged. Her unit was precious, a corner that had two windows with built-in filtration screens so she could actually open them every once in a while when it wasn’t too hot. Those days might be few and far between, but it was worth it. She stopped in the lobby, which consisted only of a series of lockers and mail slots, with an ancient intercom system that hadn’t worked since she’d moved in, to grab her gear before leaving. The locker incorrectly inscribed with “M. Desilva” contained her work bag and personal environmental protective equipment, she swung the bag over her shoulder and secured the company standard-issue gas mask over her face.

Mari didn’t see any of her coworkers as she left the building, but that wasn’t surprising so early in the morning. As far as she knew she was the only one on her floor who had the morning shift, the others were night workers. Their pay wasn’t as good, but they also could get to work without sweating through their coveralls. Company transportation stops were scattered, and the one that stood across the street from her company housing was still littered with bullet holes and out of commission, so she began her trek to the next one, a mile away. The song of the emergency siren called out above her, but she just kept moving- nobody bothered to heed the siren anymore.

“Disaster code blue,” the disembodied voice rang out between wails, “all non-essential workers return to your lodging.”

Mari scoffed, they were all essential workers according to the company.

Her coveralls began to stick to her, she knew sweat stains were already forming, and the skin beneath her gas mask was perpetually red and irritated. Her goggles fogged slightly, but she didn’t dare remove them, the sting would be worse than walking into a wall she couldn’t see. She didn’t walk into a wall, but she did trip over a few scattered pieces of trash littering the empty streets, cursing again when the barb of a destroyed wire fence pierced through her boot. It didn’t puncture skin, but the boot was toast.

Finally, the single red-painted post that signaled the transport stop appeared around the corner, but her heart sank when she saw the bench that had been there the day prior had been replaced with a standing ad for the company’s newest product: flavored gas mask cartridges. “Why settle for plain filtered oxygen?” it asked, “Non-toxic isn’t enough- you deserve to enjoy each breath you take.”

Mari clenched her fists until her nails bit into her skin. The sun beat down on her back, the pavement burned through her worn-down boots, and a similar heat lit her chest. Sirens got louder, so did the ringing in her ears. More gunshots rang through the air, and her heart punched her insides as sharply. All at once, the hum of the industrial air conditioning units that kept the city alive went silent. That must have been the code blue.

Before she could process the implications of the A/C dying, a stinging wind kicked up and began brutally beating against the goggles and minimal skin exposed on Mari’s body. Visibility dropped, and she sprinted for the small alley behind the transport stop. The walls of the buildings in the city had already been stained and damaged by the frequent dust storms over the years, and she had taken shelter in this alley more than once to escape them. Which is why she was surprised to see a doorway. It was hidden behind a dumpster that must have gotten overturned by some manner of violence in the last week, and to her shock, it was wooden. She hadn’t seen a wooden door since she was a child. Wood didn’t hold up to constant abrasive air like metal did, and there were no trees left anywhere to produce more.

She ran her fingers lovingly over its surface, she hadn’t touched anything this natural in so long, it was like she could feel life under the splintering, faded blue stain. Her reverie was broken by pain peppering the exposed back of her neck- the storm was picking up. Without thinking, Mari turned the knob and the blue wooden door opened for her, spilling her out into another alleyway and slamming behind her.

She fell onto dark pavement with a splash.

The world came into focus, sense by sense. First, it was the cold under her hands and knees. Second, the pitter patter of gentle rain hitting the ground. Third, the ripples radiating from where her fingers sat splayed in a shallow puddle. She stared at them for a long moment, an ache growing in her chest at the way light danced across the tiny waves. Slowly, she slid her hands forward until she fully lay in the water, rolling to her back to look above her. There was no sun beating down on her, only a thick gray blanket of clouds whose progeny left splatters on dust-covered goggles. Hesitantly, Mari sat up, her coveralls soaked through and heavy, leaving the crisp, clean puddle murky with her filth. Shaking hands reached for her protective gear, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the outside through eyes unclouded by the thick plastic or breathed unfiltered oxygen.

A chill went through her body, and it chased away her apprehension. Mari pulled up the goggles, yanked the straps of her gas mask, and breathed in. This world smelled like earth and water- like the dreams she used to have about cleaner days before sirens and gunshots and dust woke her each morning. She opened her eyes, the door still stood before her, innocent and sturdy. She pushed to her feet, splashing a little more than was necessary purely to hear the sound of water, water, moving beneath her. She placed her hand against the wood once more, then smiled and rested her forehead on the faded blue, a whispered thank you falling from her lips.

Her gas mask and goggles fell from her hand, the perpetual pressure inside her lifting with the thunk of them hitting the wet asphalt. Here, wherever here was, had asphalt black as the coal she shoveled into the furnaces in the company warehouse, made even darker by the sheen of water. Where she came from, it was permanently greige from the constant sun and dust, bleached and faded like everything else in the city. This place was different.

Mari turned and took in her surroundings. The street lay between two buildings, warm glows coming from within windows thrown wide open without a care for air quality or toxicity. Plants spilled over balconies and windowsills, green leaves fluttering in the rain, weighed down by the droplets that would eventually fall to the ground. Seeing the soil, dark and wet; the vines, sprawling and vibrant; and the buds, healthy and colorful, brought tears to Mari’s eyes. Her throat became thick and a sob ripped out of her chest. Laughter trickled out of some window above her, mixing with the music of the rain, and her cries as she reached up to barely brush her finger against a dangling vine. This world she did not know, but oh, how she wished to.

The boots on her feet were heavy, and still carried some of the dust and heat from the wasteland. So she toed them off, her socks following, and when she jumped into a new puddle a few feet away, it was with a giggle. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the rain as she leapt from puddle to puddle, laughing as she joined hands with the child in her heart. When she had disrupted all of the puddles on the street, she continued walking into the eventide of a beautiful world, where the streets smelled of petrichor, no bullet holes decorated the walls of apartment buildings, and Mari swore she could hear the faint sound of piano music spilling into the peace. Nobody walked the streets, yet she could feel the imprint of the people who lived here. A shopfront with a glowing “closed” sign lovingly decorated and cared for. A community garden with a hand-painted instruction to “take what you need” enclosed by a wrought iron fence and surrounded by twinkling lights. A café proclaiming the best roast in town, with a cartoon cat peeking over a pink mug adorning the windows. A small wooden door at the top of a few steps was graced with a plaque proudly stating that Dr. Jamila Dresdin would take clients at any time of day. A public park lit with street lamps and littered with benches, soft and wet grass under stately, lush trees- the stuff of fairy tales.

Mari DaSilva walked a whole city that night in the rain. She cried for the world she came from- for the world it could have been. She smiled for the chill she invited into her bones and laughed for the warmth she stole from the lightness in her chest. She skipped through blinking street lights, ran on grassy knolls replacing dry dust with mudstains. She climbed fire escapes to see the cityscape from above and followed a lazy stream down to its end. Finally, she found herself walking back down that first street, and sitting with her back against a smooth wall, looking at a hidden door. Only the door wasn’t wood. Mari sat, facing a metal door, dented and potmarked with bullet holes. It was open, bright light spilling onto the puddles and illuminating the lone gas mask lying before it. She knew the world on the other side. She could still taste the acidity of the allotted water the company swore was clean. She could still feel the echoes of the sting of dust on her skin. It was familiar, and, according to the company, it was all unavoidable. The violence was regrettable, but a worthy trade for security. The barren land was ugly, but more profitable in the long run. The work was arduous, but there was no other way to live.

Mari’s eyes closed, she tilted her face to the sky, and listened. The world around her was silent save the rain. It was a silence her world told her was a naïve dream, but here she was. No screaming. No gunshots. No Sirens.

The company was right. Non-toxic wasn’t enough, she deserved to enjoy each breath she took. So she breathed in deeply, her soul slipping into her body, and shut the door.