The Break in the Clouds

To have such a break in the weather was unusual. Unique, even. It's far from the washed out greys and browns, dark shadows and shrouding mist that they were used to... But the stark reminder broke through the clouds. Light, not lightness, a break in persistent cloud cover that flooded their little piece of the world with brightness. The cacophony of engines rumbling and rock moving began to fall to idle and succumb to the rumble of a thousand whispers, as word spread through the worksite.

Daylight. Not just daytime -- Not on-shift, not time to start work. The thing that they saw on pamphlets in the break room, that management spoke of when they wistfully talked about their vacation, the thing seen on glitzy videos where people didn't have to work sixteen hours just to afford to sleep. It brought to mind a thousand fantasies -- Running water, fresh vegetables, natural warmth, clean air. Polluted, as the whole world was now, as the light hit the ground, illuminating the millions of particles that swirled in the wakes of their movements. The once-bright yellow of their machines had been neglected, until it was flat and dirt speckled. Their clothing, greys and browns with high-visibility strips caked with dirt, lit dimly when it was even lit at all. And yet, as the sun hit them... It sparkled, catching the eye as it flooded them with light.

Arthur reached up slowly, gloved fingertips finding where the mask clipped to his goggles. How would it feel? To have something than his own warm breath washing over his face, the stale taste of filtered and re-used oxygen. The first kiss of air was chill.... As if the moment of sunlight could have possibly taken the frigid taint from the world. Still, he persisted, pulling it across and drawing in a deep breath. The grit, and cold flowing over his teeth, causing his lungs to tighten around it, the acrid taste of burned fuel. Fighting the desire to cough, he turned his chin up to the sun, to feel how it hits his skin.

Lifelike. That was the only word he could find to describe the way the sun battled with the persistent chill in the air -- That it reminded him of being alive. Exhaling, and finding it not washing over his face again in a sense of freedom he'd never felt at the controls of the massive construction vehicle, within the devastation of the mine. And as he sat, awestruck on hard grey vinyl, leaning forward against the steering column, the illusion ended with a crackle.

"Zone 49, productivity this hour has been reduced to 93%. If this continues, pay rates will be reduced to 75%. Resume work immediately." No amount of reality was as sobering as the future. As pay. The sound of metal on rock, rubber on dirt, and heavy engines picking up rose in response to it. Awestruck faded to apathy, as the loader was pushed into gear and the relative silence of the mine became a hive of activity once more, just one that was brightly lit. More clearly than ever, the way the dirty yellow-and-grey loader infront of him belched smoke into the air became visible, reminding him to cover his face once again.

He spared a moment, regardless, to give the burning ball in the sky one last food look. It wouldn't be visible for much longer anyway, and who knows when it would return again. But what was real - What was right now - Was the hundred tonnes of rock he was carrying ready to be sorted, graded, filtered and scanned. Sunlight didn't keep the lights on, keep his stomach full, keep the filters clean and keep a roof over his head.

Ten hours later, the loader was safely parked along with hundreds of almost completely indistinguishable vehicles, save for the number marked along the side of it. Stepping down from them, and walking back towards the depot, equally grey and indistinguishable masked and goggled figures, their heavy clothing insulating them and providing only flickers of light from safety bars that were beyond neglected. Pale yellow light bathes the parking bay. The mess hall promised hushed conversations, many diverting towards it to share bitter alcohol and bitter reflections, to stack more Company Debt on in exchange for food and drink.

Arthur wasn't in the mood for the bland, textureless paste. His mind drifted to videos of fruit, of smiling faces that looked like they'd never seen a mask before biting into it - The resistance, the crunch. Company Food wasn't worth four hours of his life. Not today. There were only so many hours in a day he could work anyway. Each leaden footstep clumped with his heavy boots, shedding excess dust and creating new footprints. The squat building that concealed their accomodations was far more appealing, the featureless steel of the elevators waiting to take anyone else who was ready to call it a day back to what they'd loosely call home.

Heavy steps took him into the metal box, and one gloved fingertip mashed what was once numbered '6' - Long since worn off. A rumble, as it began to drag him down beneath the earth. They'd all heard the stories about the point one percent. About the beaches, about the towers high above the ground. Before the quality of the air had got so bad it was simply safer to filter and pump the air down.

The door to his apartment opened at his approach, and a display at the back cheerfully flickered into life. It's grime-covered screen helpfully displayed.

Arthur Henderson

Hours Worked: 13.76 @ 98%

Units Received: 1,148

Shelter Cost: -600

Utilities Cost: -100

Company Insurance: -120

Company Debt Interest: -44

Company Debt Repaid: -284

Company Debt Remaining: 145,356

The room was spartan enough. A closet for personal belongings, a sonic shower to get the worst of the dust off, a place to sleep and a table to eat at. The screen flickered again, showcasing a beach where sparkling water is breaking. As the thick coat was shrugged off, goggles, gloves and mask removed, Arthur at least began to feel slightly like a person again. Settling onto the sleeping platform, his hand felt underneath the pillow on the far side, and closed around the metal locket hidden there.

It wasn't sunlight. The memories there were as bittersweet as any, while his fingers scribed the outlines of the silver heart he'd kept. One of the few memories of the past, a trinket retained from his mother so long ago it felt like it might never have happened. Of when the sun wasn't special, it was taken for granted. Before necessity meant work, before work was life. Before the Company was a necessary evil, before the world began to die around them. When the dreams of fresh air, real food, water could have possibly been a reality.

He closed his eyes... Memories of the sunlight filtered through his mind as he tried to rest, and quietly hoped tomorrow might finally bring a real change.