DIRT

Entry 1

3rd of February, 2051

Ostrava

The world is filled with irony. Once you see it, you can't unsee it. 

In people who promise to help, but end up doing the exact opposite. In a starving mother, promising to live for her children while feeding them her own rations. In our own country, once blanketed with snow, now baking in blistering heat. In humanity, once working toward a brighter future, now forced to function in the dark. In the very dirt under our feet, which once yielded sustenance and life, now being the sole thing that's killing us.

We all came from the dirt and now we'll all return to it.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

A repetitive motion, almost meditative. A familiar sound he heard nearly every night. He raised his shovel and plunged it into the ground again and again.

Thud. Thud.

The moon hung high in the dim night sky, yet the air was sweltering and heavy. With every gaping breath of exhaustion, it settled deep in his lungs like sediment, offering no relief. A massive stage light shone down on him from behind, illuminating the large, dome-like greenhouse and casting harsh, dark shadows on the fields. It sometimes reminded him of the surface of an alien planet. He found this quite funny, considering the current state of the outside. 

He stared at his own shadow for a while, flexing his fingers and carefully moving his arm around. Comparing the crisp, sharp outlines of the dark, stretched out figure with his own blunt, worn hands. He inspected his palms, once skinned nearly to the bone from being unused to long shifts handling heavy tools, now covered in calloused, reptilian-like skin. He then moved on to his bony fingers, then to his fingernails, with dirt caked under them. The shadow didn’t have fingernails. It didn’t even have a face.

“Solai!” a booming voice echoed through the greenhouse, breaking him out of his trance. He startled, whipping his head around to the origin of the sound. 

“I’ve been talking to you,” said the irritated man, frowning. Sol recognized him as the supervisor of Geoponics, who would sometimes come to critique his work in the fields. Sol stayed silent, beckoning him to continue. The man cleared his throat.

“Your sister, Mello, has come looking for you again. You should head home, kid,” he said, patronizingly. 

Sol nodded, slightly frustrated at being looked down on, and trailed behind the man, wearily dragging his shovel behind him. He stole one last fleeting glance at the field behind him, if he could even call it that. As usual, all he saw was a pile of mud and disappointment, slick with his sweat and sprinkled with a dozen or so premature, malformed masses vaguely resembling crops, inedible and shriveled up.

He thought about what he would tell his sister, knowing he would have to go hungry again just to feed her. He never did tell her about the famine. It would kill him to destroy her childhood with this burden just as it would kill her to find out he’s been starving himself. Just like their mother had. Unlike their mother, however, he had no ambitions to die.

Sol sprawled out on the ragged sofa of his cramped, dilapidated apartment. He was utterly depleted. The kind of debilitating lethargy that burrows deep into the bones, anchoring itself inside and refusing to ever leave. 

“Mello usually gets up at four, so I have until then to rest…or was it five?” he reasoned out loud, despite hardly being able to think straight. The sun started to creep up above the horizon. Sol knew he should shut the blinds to prevent the sunlight from shining in, as it made nearly everything it touched reach unbearable temperatures, but his limbs were so heavy, like lead. His eyelids drooped, thoughts dissipating.

He spent the next couple of hours drifting in and out of consciousness. His self-destructive habits often had a way of ensuring he never actually got any rest, despite spending most of the day asleep. 

The city, bustling and energetic at night, was eerily quiet during the day. Nobody wanted to risk their life going out into the heat of the midday sun, instead choosing to shelter inside. 

People tried to prevent excessive heat damage to buildings and infrastructure, but due to a shortage of resources, only high priority buildings with lots of space for housing, such as hospitals and apartment complexes, could be properly insulated. This left mere tarps and shade cloths for anything less important, like the greenhouses in Geoponics. Most structures, however, were deemed useless and left to deteriorate, slowly expanding, cracking and crumbling.

The first thing he heard was a faint whistling noise, followed by confused chatter outside. Sol wrenched his eyes open, silently noting the dimness of the room. He sat up, peeling himself off of the sofa to go and open a window. Goosebumps raised at the back of his neck as he hobbled to the window, a dull ache spreading through his limbs. 

“When did it get so cold?” he murmured, mourning the fading patch of heat his body left behind on the sofa. A chill ran down his spine as he realised the nature of what he had said. 

He rushed to the window as quickly as his overworked body would let him, blinking the tiredness from his eyes. As he pulled the window open, his dark, messy hair was immediately ruffled by an uncharacteristic wind. His apartment overlooked the city centre, where the small community was gathering, looking out at the barren, dirt covered plains. 

He forced his eyes to focus on an invasive colour in the sky. The setting sun was obscured by a dusty beige on the horizon. Sol watched in horror as the shape grew in both size and diameter, as if it were hurtling toward them. 

As he gaped at the sight, a light switched on in his mind. He came to a harrowing realization. A dust storm. It was a dust storm, and it was going to tear them apart. He knew because Mello had warned him of them.

Mello had a morbid curiosity about natural disasters. He theorised it had stemmed from a protective urge deep inside her, coupled with the guilt of their mother’s passing. She studied them in her free time, and would occasionally ramble on about them to Sol. He would listen, he always listened, because nobody else would. That fact, however, never stopped her from trying to selflessly warn people.

Sol scrambled to her bedroom, kicking her door open and was promptly met with nothing but the light fluttering of her curtains. No person in sight. A pool of dread settled in his stomach as the usually stagnant air picked up speed, scattering small, rogue objects around his already cluttered apartment.

His sweet little sister, at the mere age of twelve, was running around the city warning people of the rapidly approaching storm. He hurriedly ripped the bedsheets off of her bed and wrapped himself in them before tearing out of the apartment, desperately screaming her name. 

The storm breached the city borders, painting the sky and everything under it a muddy hue, coating the ground in dirt, sand and dust. Particles wedged themselves into every little crack they touched, never to be found nor forgotten.

All Sol could hear was the wind whipping past him, and his own broken voice, cracking from heavy use. Every couple of seconds, he would uncover his mouth to call for his sister, and immediately smother himself with the bedsheets again, because it was better than being exposed to the dust. He could barely keep his eyes open for a full second. It didn't matter much, however, because he could barely even see his own hand stretched out in front of him. He was navigating the city purely by memory. The streets he so often tread upon looked foreign, shrouded in a dark haze. Still, he persisted, the urge to protect his sister driving him forward and making him disregard any shred of self-preservation he had left. 

“Mello!” he bellowed, pushing through the twilit storm.

Suddenly, he registered a new sound. He halted, his ears picking up the faintest voice to his right.

“Mel, are you there?!” Sol shouted, breaking into a coughing fit immediately after, but it was unmistakable. He knew his sister’s voice when he heard it. He made his way into the run down building to his right, knees creaking like a rusty machine.

He stumbled through the door, lightheaded and struggling to take a breath. The dry, dusty air scratched his already parched throat, making even the simplest of actions feel torturous. 

He frantically looked around until he spotted a small, trembling figure curled up against a wall. 

“Mello?” he rasped as softly as he could. Mello’s gaze flicked up to her older brother's face, recognition blooming in her big doe eyes. She shakily stood up, and promptly burst into tears. Sol embraced her as she soiled his shirt with her tears, but he didn't care in the slightest. Relief flooded his system as his tense body relaxed, shoulders slumping. Mello’s frail voice came through.

“I just wanted to help! I wanted to warn them!” she sobbed into Sol’s shoulder, voice muffled.

“I know, I know, and you did help!” Sol soothed. “But you have to make sure you’re safe first, okay? Promise me you’ll always put yourself first, no matter what happens,” he proclaimed, unshed tears blurring his vision. “I won’t always be there to protect you.”

Mello’s firm grip on her own silly bedsheets impossibly tightened, hands clamping down on the star speckled fabric.

In that moment, Solai felt as if they were alone in the world, with nobody but each other to care for. Maybe he was selfish for overlooking everyone else, but he had Mello, and Mello was the only thing he had left.

The night was cruel, and the siblings stayed huddled in a corner, bedsheets draped over their shoulders. Sol whispered stories to pass time. He recounted his awkward experiences and embarrassing mistakes, with Mello occasionally giggling. He described odd fever dreams in surprisingly good detail. He told her all about the feast they were going to have once this was over, with bread and meat and vegetables, and no dry, chalky rations. He talked until his vocal chords gave out, finally giving his marred throat a break.

Slowly, the wind died down, dust and grime beginning to settle on every surface. Sol steadily stood up, wincing slightly at the sharp burst of pain shooting through his overexerted legs. He started to make his way toward the exit of the building, Mello following close behind.

He signaled for Mello to stay hidden before he pushed the door open, cautiously peering outside. The remaining winds drifted through the city like ghosts, as other people began to emerge from their own shelters, leaving footprints on the dust-covered ground. Sol gave Mello a brief nod, and they both stepped outside, surveying the damage. 

Almost immediately, people began calling out for their lost loved ones. Some reunited with their families, who had split up in the chaos. Others, however, began screaming hysterically when they received no reply. In no time, the gloomy quiet that had spread across the streets was disrupted by a symphony of frantic, frightened shouts and cries, leaving Sol’s ears ringing. People ran through the streets, disoriented and bumping into each other. All Sol could do was clutch Mello’s arm to make sure she didn't get pulled into the mayhem.

A powerful, frigid gale suddenly swept through the street, the final breath of a dying storm, knocking people off their feet. Sol rushed to shield himself with his arms. He looked to his right, where Mello had been, but she could only muster a short, fearful glance before being toppled and rolled a few metres away by the gelid wind.

The screams died down, overshadowed by a low, menacing rumble coming from the building beside the siblings. Sol looked up to see the walls of the small apartment complex cracking, resembling bolts of lightning climbing up its side. Tiny shards broke off and fell to the ground, coming from directly above Mello. Sol’s stomach lurched as he rushed toward her, fueled by pure adrenaline. Mello clambered on her hands and feet, pale in the face, trying to get away. When Sol grabbed hold of her cold, clammy hand in a white-knuckled grip, he summoned all of his remaining strength. He pulled as hard as he possibly could in his pathetic state, trying so desperately to at least drag her out of the immediate danger zone.

All everyone could do was watch as the decaying apartment complex crumbled at the base, pushed over its limit by the storm, collapsing. It stirred up large amounts of thick, choking dust and sent debris flying in every direction. Exposed individuals scrambled to take cover.

People coughed and wheezed, fighting to breathe while waiting for a sign of life, which came in the form of a scream from beyond the curtain of dust.

Sol held his little sister in a bone crushing grip, eyes wide, not quite taking everything in. Mello cried out, pained eyes looking up at him, fingers clawing at his shirt. Her legs were being crushed under a large piece of concrete, which was probably once a wall. Sol raised a shaking hand to her head, running his fingers through her soft hair. 

“It’s okay, Mello. It will be okay,” he mumbled emotionally.

The dust around them began to clear, and so did Solai’s thoughts. They crashed into him like a train. This was real. This was really happening. Tears started to stream down his face as he let out a pitiful noise. He cursed himself over and over for neglecting Mello, working all night and sleeping all day, hoping for a better future, when he should have been focused on the present. On his dear sister.

The sun slowly rose above the horizon, bringing with it a pleasant warmth. Somewhere nearby, rooted in the dry, bleak dirt, a single flower bloomed.

Entry 2

7th of March, 2051

Ostrava

The world is filled with irony. Once you see it, you can't unsee it. 

In grueling work, proved insignificant. In death, which claims in all the wrong ways. In good people, turned victims of nature. In men who think themselves God, humbled by the ancient Earth. In humanity, intelligent, yet driven by primal urges. In us all, haunted by the past, experiencing the future. In the very dirt we were all born on, static, yet forever unpredictable.

It’s difficult to believe that such a harsh, desolate environment could nurture such a beautiful, fragile thing. Fleeting life.