AU – All human

Vasilisa -

I usually don't mind the darkness, I've grown up in it. My uncle, Victor, tells me that we are living in a dark age, and that we must adapt. I try to be brave for him, he has enough to worry about. He shouldn't have to concern himself with the anxieties that plague his 17 year old niece. And so I've learned to live in darkness.

But it's moments like right now, when I'm seized by night terrors, that I find the darkness to be suffocating. It envelopes my body, seeping into my skin through my pores. Sweat beads have formed on my brow, despite the chilly autumn air that has filled my room. My breathing is shallow and irregular, my chest tight. I begin counting backward from one hundred.

100, 99, 98…

I have one small lamp in my bedroom, it sits on the nightstand, and I want desperately to reach forward and pull the chain.

97, 96, 95…

I want to flood my bedroom with light, so that it fills every corner, chasing away the shadows that plague me.

94, 93, 92…

But even if I did pull that rusty chain, I know nothing would happen. I would still be shrouded in darkness.

91…

My hands are shaking so I bring them up to clutch either side of my head, rocking back and forth slowly.

Breathe, Lissa!

I sit that way for a long time before I finally regain control of my body. I'm not even really sure what I dream about most nights, except that it's horrible. They always feel the same, though. They always leave me trembling and gasping for breath. Even after I've managed to recover, I am racked with a feeling of inconsolable hopelessness. I used to sleep through the night when I was younger, back when my uncle and I had shared a small one bedroom unit. The night terrors and the panic attack that usually ensues afterward have only gotten worse with age. It's a feeling I know I could eradicate if only I could turn on the light. But I can't.

My uncle has offered on a number of occasions to leave me with a few candles, but I won't waste our rations on things as trivial as nightmares. I would burn through our monthly allotment in a week. Anyways, our neighbors would probably report the light spilling through my window to the authorities. The last thing my family needs is some Resource Auditor poking their nose around our building.

I shiver at the thought, and realize I had tossed my heavy wool blanket onto the floor during my fit. Autumns in the former state of Montana can be unforgiving, and I can no longer tell if I'm shaking from my dreams, or from the chilly predawn air. I reach down and grip the edge of the fabric, pulling it onto my bare legs. I know I should try to get some more sleep, and so I lower my head back onto my pillow. I let my thoughts drift to what the rest of the day might bring, trying to distract myself. I come close to slipping into unconsciousness a few times, but sleep never truly comes. I remain aware of my surroundings, until at last, I see tiny rays of sunshine begin to permeate the darkness.

That's enough for me. I toss back the covers and swing my legs around, letting my toes graze the rough concrete beneath me. I take a moment, reaching my hands above my head in an attempt to stretch and release a little bit of the tension in my shoulders. My eyelids are heavy and I realize that at some point today, I am going to regret missing those last few hours of sleep. I rise from the bed and make my way toward the door that leads into the main hallway of the housing unit that my uncle and I share.

I suppose I should be grateful for our new lodgings. When we had first been relocated to this compound, Victor and I had shared a single room. The bathroom situation was even less appealing. Eventually, Victor and I were allowed to move into a single family home left over from before the Event. I guess the compound used to be an army base, but much of it had been destroyed during the Event. The rest had been gutted so that it could be rebuilt to house refugees like my uncle and me. We didn't really have a choice in coming here, but after everything that happened, the government decided to reorganize the population. Well, what was left of it.

Our compound is located in the Midwest province of NAAMA. NAAMA stands for the North American Alliance for Modern Advancement, but it used to be just the United States of America. There are other compounds in our province, and other provinces within NAAMA, each one just like the other; built for efficiency and to be easily controlled. Almost every part of my life is regulated within the compound. The new government tells me what to eat and when, how to dress, and even when to take a shower.

I hear the toll of a bell that I know stands at the center of the compound, letting me know that it's only 6:00 in the morning. I make my toward the end of the hallway and open the door to the bathroom. Water won't be distributed to this section of the compound for another fifteen minutes or so, but I start my morning routine anyways. Resources are scarce now, and in order to conserve water, we are only allowed access to water for bathing at specifically mandated times. It was the same with electricity, ours wouldn't turn on until 5:00 this evening.

Despite the poor lighting of the bathroom, I see my reflection in the mirror clearly. I hardly recognize myself these days. A tangle of pale blonde hair cuts off at my shoulders. My tresses are unruly and I wage a daily battle against them, my only weapon being a fine toothed comb. I brush a lock of silvery hair behind my ear to reveal the rest of my heart shaped face. Two jade green eyes stare back at me. My eyes used to be the part of myself I loved most, but now they seemed haunted. Eyes that have seen too much. I pinch my cheeks, trying to force some color into them. The events of the previous night had left me pale, but I know it is no use.

I turn the sink on briefly and a few droplets of water trickle out onto my palms. I bring my hands to my lips and drink. Again, my efforts to bring normalcy to my appearance are thwarted. I take a deep breath and glance back up at my appearance. I make a face at myself, and then pull down on my eyelids with the tips of my fingers, it is no use. I hoped a shower would help me shake off this feeling as I padded back into the hallway to grab a towel from the linen closet.

By the time I've returned to the bathroom, it's almost time for our daily allotment of bathing water to be distributed to our home via the pipes that run beneath the compound. I quickly shed my night gown, revealing a lithe figure. I wrap my arms around my bare skin, trying to retain a little bit of warmth as I step into the shower stall. The small tiles beneath my feet are cold, and I fidget slightly as I wait. Finally the shower head sputters to life and I feel as if some one has dumped a bucket of ice water over my head, and I gasp loudly, trying to recover from the shock. After a few moments, the temperature rises to a moderately comfortable level and I am able to finish showering before the water shuts off abruptly.

This is my life. I wake up every morning in either a state of panic, or to the clanging sound of a bell. After one rude awakening or another, I force myself to suffer through a shower whose temperature I have no control over. I usually emerge shivering and wrap my self in a thread spun towel that has since become to small to cover even the most immodest of girls. I don a version of the same clothes I've worn every day for the last 17 years. We don't have things like department stores or boutiques any more, I'm not even really sure what those are. Our clothes, like everything else that we need, come from the Resource Distribution Center. Each individual is given three to five sets of clothing, depending on their vocation. Each set varies a little from the other, but they all fall into the same drab end of the color spectrum.

I feel bad complaining about things like cold showers and bland skirts. These things should be the least of my worries. I know I should consider it a privilege that I find myself even capable of complaining about such frivolous matters.

Your life could have turned out much worse.

I tell myself as I pull my long hair into a bun at the crown of my head.

You could have died.

I select a beige long sleeved dress and pull it over my head.

You could have died right along side your parents.

I slip on a pair of brown boots more suitable to hiking than sitting behind a desk all day.

"Stop it." This time, I have spoken my words out loud.

When no one answers, not even my own subconscious, I finally make my way into the kitchen to scrounge something together for breakfast. I open and close several cabinets. Not pleased with what I find, I repeat the process, even though I know I won't find anything more appealing than before waiting behind the rickety cabinet doors. I eventually settle for an apple. I take a bite as I make my way toward the front door of my unit. I don't bother taking the apple out of my mouth as I retrieve my coat and scarf that hang by the door. Once I am all bundled up beneath my layers, I pull the apple from my lips and walk out the front door. I turn and take one last fleeting look at the bare bones unit I had been forced to call home before slamming the door shut behind me.

The fall air is crisp and clean, and I hear the faint sounds of others stirring in their homes as they get ready for the day. I begin making my toward the center of the compound where I work. Like me, most of the people living here were made to do so after the Event. We were given shelter, food, clothing, and even jobs. Most of the men living here were assigned to work in the fields that lay just outside the stone walls of the compound, my uncle being one of them. We grow a number of things here in the Midwestern Province; peanuts, cotton, and corn, but most of it is sent to the other provinces who aren't as lucky as we are. The women living here are usually assigned to train as teachers or caregivers. People are assigned to jobs based on the needs of the community, not based on whatever they did before the Event. That seemed like a waste to me, but what good were my thoughts? They were nothing compared to the new regime that now ruled NAAMA.

As I get closer to the compound's center, I pass the school where every child between the ages of 4 and 16 spends most of their days. We were taught the basics there; math, and reading, but never science. It was there that one of my teachers had discovered my aptitude for mathematics which had resulted in a very peculiar job placement. When I turned 16, I did not join my fellow women at the school or at the daycare. I was assigned to work as a bookkeeper for the Resource Distribution Center.

I hate my job. The Resource Distribution Center is responsible for rationing out everything from water to clothing to medicine. To say that they are conservative in their methods would be putting it mildly. My job is simple; I have to record how much food, clothing, medicine, and any other resource provided by the government is used by every individual in the compound, down to the last child. It falls under my duties to report anyone who might be hoarding resources. I hardly ever report anyone though, most people here are just trying to live. I've gotten away with turning a blind eye so far, but I think my supervisor is on to me. Unlike me, Cal, enjoys the work that we do. He tells me that it is an honor to be trusted to do the important work that we do. I think he just gets off on withholding things that others need.

Once I've finally made it to the RDC, I shed my coat and scarf, and try to sneak past Cal before he can spot me. I have barely made it past the door of his office when I hear him call my name.

"Vasilisa, not so fast there," he spins around to face me with a cocky smile plastered on his face.

I usually insist that people call me by my nickname, Lissa, but not Cal. Cal looks to be in his early forties, I know he isn't, but his receding hair line is not doing him any favors. He is also one of the only overweight humans I have ever seen here in the compound. His round belly hangs over the front of his too small pants, and when he grins, I can see that he hasn't brushed his teeth in at least a week.

"What's the rush?" He asks me. "Not avoiding me are you?"

I shake my head fervently, "I was just going to the counter, we need to open soon."

He eyes me suspiciously, "Alright, go ahead and get started."

I turn away from him but, he calls after me again.

"Vasilisa? Don't forget we're closing early today."

I nod in response and make my way toward the counter where people will eventually come to me to make resource requests. Closing early? I racked my brain, trying to remember why we would be closing early. It takes me only a few moments before I remember.

The Anniversary.

My day is a blur after that, and with each passing hour, I find myself growing more and more nervous. How could I have forgotten that today was the Anniversary? At 4:00 PM sharp, I close down the counter and gather my things. Luckily, Cal sometimes likes to bail on work after his lunch break, and so I am left alone to lock up the RDC. Everyone has made their way into the compound's center where they stand gathered around a large pole with a speaker fitted on top. I join the throng of people and wait. A few moments later, a crackling noise comes over the speaker, and it begins.

"Good evening, citizens of the North American Alliance for Modern Advancement," came the cool, feminine voice of Tasha Ozera.

"Today we are gathered, not to mourn, but to celebrate. This day is a momentous one, for on it, 16 years ago, we were reborn."

I heard a few people around me murmur their agreement and excitement. I just felt sick.

"16 years ago, unknown terrorists launched a massive amount of scud rockets, armed with nuclear warheads high into the Earth's atmosphere. The explosion and the subsequent radiation alone would have wiped out the populace, had it not been for the altitude at which the rockets were detonated. Instead, it triggered an Event that would change our world forever. The simultaneous explosions created an electromagnetic pulse that permanently disabled every electronic device on the face of planet Earth. Communication became impossible, traffic lights ceased to work, and planes fell out of the sky as the cities below them burned. People were left stranded, many died of starvation and exposure, others were caught in electrical fires, while their fellow man turned to murder and theft to survive. Our world fell into chaos and it seemed there would be no end to the destruction."

I look around and realize that some of the women have started crying while children cling to their mother's legs.

"But it would end. Your government would prevail, and soon we were able to reorganize and rebuild. We have emerged stronger, and more prepared than ever. We are no longer forced to rely on gadgets and devices so that we may survive. The same gadgets that turned on us 16 years ago. Never again will we be vulnerable to such an attack."

People began clapping as Tasha's voice swelled with a self-righteous confidence.

"Never again will we face the decimation that once threatened to wipe man kind off of the planet and out of the history books! Never again will we become slaves to technology! We are strong! We are independent! And we are united!"

This was probably pretty confusing, but I hope it peeked your interest. Also as an FYI, this story will alternate between Lissa and Rose's POV.