Peace
This weeks b7friday theme was Peace, Hope, and Joy.
I originally intended to write something jolly. Yeah. Well.
A word of warning:All the fun has fled. Which means this is a melancholy piece inspired by recent events. It's also longer than a usual drabble, as it just kept going and going. It was threatening to turn into a full length fic, but as I still wanted this to make it in by deadline, I had to put a stop to it. It's been curbed at just under 800 words, which means of course, it's not eligible for b7friday anyway, but here it is anyway.
\journal-entry
This will be my final entry. I tried to forget about it for tonight, but I guess I just need some sense of closure and this is the closest I can get. I haven't talked about this with anyone, not even the therapists, but my time has run out now, and I need to get it out somehow.
The rains hadn't been so bad. Yes, 60 days is a lot of rain, but our infrastructure coped with the deluge. We had safe places to return to, inside the domes. This wasn't Earth. Most on Vilka lived outside the domes, and used them as places of congregation and celebration. And, as was our nature, we continued celebrating even as the rains fell, knowing that we were safe in our domes. We celebrated that we were safe, protected from the elements.
We were joyous, celebrating our good fortune at escaping. None of us had ever experienced a natural disaster of that magnitude before. Not only were there no such disasters in living memory, there were no such disasters on record, as the records all post dated the domes.
If any of us had the insight ask the water planets for their appraisal of the situation, their voices were drowned out by the majority of the council who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that our structures could protect us, and reassured our faith in their emergency planning, and the infallible Star One, although really, that should have been our first clue.
Later, during The Reformation of the Federation, analysis was done on our planet's geology. There, clearly shown on every predictive model, was the data we had missed. Groundwater seeping into faults in the earth can cause earthquakes. 60 days of water filled every crevice on the planet.
The resulting earthquakes literally shook our world. Quake after quake rattled the surface plates, cracking the foundations of the unassailable domes, allowing water to seep in. But that wasn't all they did. They also shook the water, causing waves the like of which we'd only ever seen on entertainment viscasts.
As the waves roared towards the domes, most in the domes rushed to the windows to look out at them. I was in the central hall at the time, hanging decorations on the handholds of the upper levels. I wasn't able to get to a window. Those decorations, which I cursed at the time, most likely saved my life. Suddenly the waves didn't seem so entertaining.
Vilka is a dead planet now. The Federation made some abortive attempts early on, to convince people to move there and help rebuild, but no one was interested in living with the ghosts. I've seen images, of the remains of the domes. I didn't recognise them at first. There was nothing left of the vibrant cities I remembered, just endless footage of concrete rubble and broken steel girders. The bodies that had swirled past me in the water, had been removed for processing, but my mind pictured them moving across the holographic surfaces, shopping, drinking and laughing in companionship.
I go for voluntary memory suppression treatments tomorrow. It means a lifetime of drugs, and the therapists warned me that I would have to severe all ties with my family and friends in order for the suppression to stick. I laughed a little too maniacally in the clinic, and was nearly sedated there and then. Clearly they hadn't been paying close attention to my records. The few other survivors rescued from Vilka want nothing more to do with me, than I do with them. The fewer reminders of the event, the better. None of us have spoken with each other in months.
There's just one item I haven't been able to discard. It's a stupid plastic plant, a replica of something called an olive. I was still clutching it when they took me from the waters. I suppose it might be a danger to the memory eradication, but somehow I can't convince myself to part with it. I've left it on the dresser. After all, I doubt it will have any meaning to me when I return. All I want now, is to be able to sleep at night, to finally have some peace.
The therapists asked me to choose a new name, and a new life. I can only hope now that someday the Feds catch those bastard rebels who shut down Star One, and ended my life, so I've decided to call myself Soolin, which on Vilka meant 'Hope'. It seems fitting somehow.
I have to go. I have an early session with the therapists tomorrow. I'm taking this recording with me. I'll get them to destroy it there. So hopefully, tonight will be my last ever sleepless night.
/journal entry.
I originally intended to write something jolly. Yeah. Well.
A word of warning:All the fun has fled. Which means this is a melancholy piece inspired by recent events. It's also longer than a usual drabble, as it just kept going and going. It was threatening to turn into a full length fic, but as I still wanted this to make it in by deadline, I had to put a stop to it. It's been curbed at just under 800 words, which means of course, it's not eligible for b7friday anyway, but here it is anyway.
\journal-entry
This will be my final entry. I tried to forget about it for tonight, but I guess I just need some sense of closure and this is the closest I can get. I haven't talked about this with anyone, not even the therapists, but my time has run out now, and I need to get it out somehow.
The rains hadn't been so bad. Yes, 60 days is a lot of rain, but our infrastructure coped with the deluge. We had safe places to return to, inside the domes. This wasn't Earth. Most on Vilka lived outside the domes, and used them as places of congregation and celebration. And, as was our nature, we continued celebrating even as the rains fell, knowing that we were safe in our domes. We celebrated that we were safe, protected from the elements.
We were joyous, celebrating our good fortune at escaping. None of us had ever experienced a natural disaster of that magnitude before. Not only were there no such disasters in living memory, there were no such disasters on record, as the records all post dated the domes.
If any of us had the insight ask the water planets for their appraisal of the situation, their voices were drowned out by the majority of the council who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that our structures could protect us, and reassured our faith in their emergency planning, and the infallible Star One, although really, that should have been our first clue.
Later, during The Reformation of the Federation, analysis was done on our planet's geology. There, clearly shown on every predictive model, was the data we had missed. Groundwater seeping into faults in the earth can cause earthquakes. 60 days of water filled every crevice on the planet.
The resulting earthquakes literally shook our world. Quake after quake rattled the surface plates, cracking the foundations of the unassailable domes, allowing water to seep in. But that wasn't all they did. They also shook the water, causing waves the like of which we'd only ever seen on entertainment viscasts.
As the waves roared towards the domes, most in the domes rushed to the windows to look out at them. I was in the central hall at the time, hanging decorations on the handholds of the upper levels. I wasn't able to get to a window. Those decorations, which I cursed at the time, most likely saved my life. Suddenly the waves didn't seem so entertaining.
Vilka is a dead planet now. The Federation made some abortive attempts early on, to convince people to move there and help rebuild, but no one was interested in living with the ghosts. I've seen images, of the remains of the domes. I didn't recognise them at first. There was nothing left of the vibrant cities I remembered, just endless footage of concrete rubble and broken steel girders. The bodies that had swirled past me in the water, had been removed for processing, but my mind pictured them moving across the holographic surfaces, shopping, drinking and laughing in companionship.
I go for voluntary memory suppression treatments tomorrow. It means a lifetime of drugs, and the therapists warned me that I would have to severe all ties with my family and friends in order for the suppression to stick. I laughed a little too maniacally in the clinic, and was nearly sedated there and then. Clearly they hadn't been paying close attention to my records. The few other survivors rescued from Vilka want nothing more to do with me, than I do with them. The fewer reminders of the event, the better. None of us have spoken with each other in months.
There's just one item I haven't been able to discard. It's a stupid plastic plant, a replica of something called an olive. I was still clutching it when they took me from the waters. I suppose it might be a danger to the memory eradication, but somehow I can't convince myself to part with it. I've left it on the dresser. After all, I doubt it will have any meaning to me when I return. All I want now, is to be able to sleep at night, to finally have some peace.
The therapists asked me to choose a new name, and a new life. I can only hope now that someday the Feds catch those bastard rebels who shut down Star One, and ended my life, so I've decided to call myself Soolin, which on Vilka meant 'Hope'. It seems fitting somehow.
I have to go. I have an early session with the therapists tomorrow. I'm taking this recording with me. I'll get them to destroy it there. So hopefully, tonight will be my last ever sleepless night.
/journal entry.