Under this dome, we seek peace. Since its placement over our small community we have strived to lead better lives than the savages beyond. Our dome keeps us safe from the unrelenting death and desecration of pointless war, and for that we owe it our lives.

It fell from the sky. 16th October 3426 was the day. Our grandfathers still speak of the initial terror and the following sanctuary that it wrought here. The world outside at first gave their all to ‘help’ us, however the wisest among us told from the beginning of the haven it would create. 92 years later, they have been proved correct.

One 24th June 3447, civilisation on the outside broke down. 1000 years of worldwide democracy and prosperity washed away in a matter of days. To this day our isolation has kept us ignorant of the reason why. It never has kept any of us awake at night, not accounting for the restlessness caused by the Earth’s quivering at the dropping of bombs in the beyond.

We were, legend has it, once upon a time a suburb of the ‘Windy City’, known especially for housing a plethora of delectable dining spots with origins spread across the planet. Our residents were affluent, schools educating some of the brightest sparks in the country. A monument in the town centre still displays a canvas painting of our view from the hill on which we stood overlooking the glitz of a great city. Planted with giant steel structures that broke the clouds, ascending to the heavens where the imaginations of its residents lived in a constant hustle of joy and decadence.

We have seen nothing since the day we were partitioned. Now, while most of the spacious suburban properties remained in their original positions, dilapidation had set in despite the efforts of the townsfolk. Family lines that had died out either because of our reformed justice system that punished those working against the common good with death or by trying to escape – digging under the dome and attempting to break through had both proved fatal endeavours – had their houses torn down to be converted into farming plots to cater for increases in population and the worship of the deity many in the town believed must have dropped the dome.

Since the forced conception of our village, we’d gone together through 3 uprisings, one famine that struck down, rather coincidentally, the most successful of the revolts and endless wildfires. Nobody had discovered yet what the dome was constructed from, but whatever it was trapped the suns heat with a relentless vigour, keeping us beyond 35 degrees every single day. Trees were banished within a week of the dome falling and crops had to be watered continuously  to prevent loss of moisture in the soil as well as fires that could raze the entire town.

Our struggles forced our community to come together despite our differences, though. We worked for each other mostly, each citizen holding an exclusive responsibility. While we felt the ravaging quakes of war, we found peace in perpetual ignorance.

Written by RJP

Freelance writer of fiction (poetry, short stories and - one day - novels) and non-fiction articles. To date, the majority of work on display has been random items of practice that seek to test the limits of imagination whilst attempting to weave various ideas on society and the pursuit of understanding in as cryptic a manner as possible. Stay tuned.

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