City of Light

There was no atmosphere on Earth. So, humans built it. They used dark floating panels to cover up the bleeding night. Each panel hugged together like the street pavements on a winter’s day. Pipes, installed on the sides of each panel, emitted gases that scattered across the planet, creating a blue halo from outside space. What was once called the atmosphere was now given a new name, the shield. The shield that protected us from the atomic waves and the solar radiation of the Sun.

“Lian, is it today? Is it today?” Granny grabbed the television frame. She curled her fingers, knuckles white. Granny didn’t blink, staring at the television screen. Red and blue lights overlapped into a perfect purple on her eyes and cheeks.

“Granny, you shouldn’t stand for too long. I’ll get your wheelchair.” The only light source in the apartment was the television screen. My silhouette danced from one wall to another, fingers trying to feel another dark shadow. How an eighty-year-old woman who relied on her wheelchair for two years could stand up in front of the television was a wonder. 

“Lian, turn up the volume.” Granny straightened her limbs. She watched the news anchor moving his lips in slow motion. The residents across our apartment were getting agitated as well. They turned their lights and televisions on, red, yellow, and white. All pixels on every television shuffled the same way.

Area 1 donates 4,687,500 hours of sunlight to Area 143. 

All heating stations are open to residents who are 80 years old and above.

Starting from today.

My nostrils flared in the frigid air. My breathing went ragged as the news unveiled the fourth priority group for the purchase. Someone from next door replaced the silence with their voices. Bottles were smashed into glass shards. They fell from the buildings, stabbing the asphalt roads with rage. Granny’s phone buzzed. The blue light from her phone screen painted my face with its color.

Heating Station starts at 8:00 a.m.

“We still have three hours before the station opens. Let’s go there early to avoid the crowd.” I found Granny’s wheelchair by the window. It faced the outside view, which was the color of burning brimstones, flaming blue across the horizon. I reached out my arm and let my skin breathe the open air for the first time in two years. If I leaned forward even more, would the darkness consume my skin until I could see no more?

“I’m asking everyone. What is the reason for the lack of sunlight in our area while other areas get to use extra sunlight for a suntan?” Granny tugged the remote under her armpit. She leaned onto the armrest when she sat in her wheelchair.

“Lian, watch this.”

It was a different television show. The host was a man with glasses. His cheeks stung red like fire. His pitch was high enough to shatter mirrors. 

“4,687,500 hours of sunlight isn’t enough for an area population of 23 million people. If you think that solely relying on sunlight donations from other areas is a way to save people. Then you are damn wrong.

I’m talking about people’s lives here. According to scientists, the amount of sunlight a person needs per day is 10 to 30 minutes. Let’s pretend it’s 30 minutes per person. The government only allows each person to purchase three months’ worth of sunlight. That is 90 days. Let’s do the math. Only 2.5 million lucky residents get to have their skin kissed by the sun. That doesn’t even include non-health professional young adults.

Now the question of the century, when are you going to use the taxpayers’ money to buy enough sunlight for all people, Mr. President?”

“Smart lad, I like where this is going.” 

“Granny, we’ve got two hours left. Shall we go?”

“Lian, you should book a flight to Area 1.” Some of the neighbors seemed to have the same plan as ours. Several doors clicked while warm greetings filled the hallway. The neighbors called Granny’s name, asking her to them. “I heard that they don’t have heating stations because they have the sky.”

I had seen the sky when I was young. Before the atmosphere changed its name, Granny and I would watch the weather forecast together on the couch. She would point at the white rolling curls eating the green earth below and said, “Lian, it’s gonna rain this evening. We should do the laundry early.” 

The sky was not a canvas but a playback. After doing the laundry, I would stand on the balcony, looking above. I would project my dreams on the sky and watch it took over. It was like a daily free stage act. A one-minute stage play in which reality would fade behind the curtains and let my imaginations rise with the sun and combust with the clouds. 

It had been three years since the atmosphere became a legend. The sky was no longer the reflected light of gas layers but a puzzle pieced by billions of floating square panels. Every panel was owned by an area. Rich areas devoured as much as they could, so they could use these panels to collect enough solar waves and converted them into sunlight. Poor areas or politically controversial areas had little power to rebuild a sky of their own, so they purchased sunlight from richer areas and established heating stations. 

Area 143, ironically called the City of Light, was one of the bleakest areas. It was an island without its panel. For two years, the island lost many lives without making any sunlight trades. Then the residents invented stronger LED housing lights that imitated the sun. And so, people started to stay at home more often, enjoying the warmth from their creation until they found out that artificial lights were not enough to replace what was naturally made. 

The heating station was packed. Granny sat in her wheelchair chatting with her friends for an hour. By the time Granny’s snores melted with the white noise, the receptionist called her name. 

“What time does the sun shine?” I typed down my apartment address and scanned my face. Granny was massaging her bony legs.

“Ten minutes. Make sure your LED light tubs are functioning. We don’t want a fire hazard going on after we transport sunlight to your house.” The receptionist reached down and asked Granny to face the camera. Granny held up her hands and showing her crooked smile, teeth and gums. 

“Granny, you seemed happy. I’m glad.”

“Not just happy. It’s damn happy.”

“Damn? How long have you been watching that conspiracy channel?”

“For as long as that handsome man is on television.”

***

I saw white. The airport windows were five times my height, framing the line where the earth met the sky. Airplanes went up, and the ground beneath them fell backward. I could see color in the black oil surface smeared on the running track. For the first time after three years, my hair presented a different black from the oil stains. For the first time, I could feel the burning sensation crafted on my skin as I walked out of the airport.

“Area 1 does have its own sky.”

“Meh. Lian, can you tilt down the umbrella? I’m getting blind by the sunlight.”

“Just say you're not suitable to live the high life, Granny.”

“Then prepare to get sunburnt.”