Aikurushii Momo
Humans, in this new world, once knew a life of luxury. Technology had advanced, where buildings made of materials stronger than osmium and titanium soared, reaching clouds. Humankind branched out to other planets, other solar systems, to offset the growing population. Animals were taken, to be bred in “arks” in the sky, as were the last surface-dwelling samples of vegetation. Neglect and ignorance ravaged the planet, and those who could not afford a ticket to space, even in the rockets that could barely fly, were forced to stay and adapt to the dead planet.
Since the last, straggling ships left, animals became a myth. Trees were replaces with metal structures, sharp and unforgiving, pitiful mimes of what nature used to be. Countries, states, and places that used to exist were now foreign. Islands sunk beneath the toxic sea, and temperatures rose to staggering degrees, thanks to the smog pollution brought. Buildings collapsed, and dust infiltrated any living lungs, and ended one more life.
The surface was dead. Deserted, empty, and hazardous. But underground?
That was where life thrived.
In the city which was once called New York, the subway tunnels became the breeding ground for live. Plants that adapted to a world without a sun twisted around old tracks, abandoned trains became homes, places to hide, and communities were born. Tattered blankets, sheets, whatever fabrics they could find blocked the dust and smog from the surface, whether in the form of barriers at the entrances and exits of the tunnels, or makeshift tents, more places for people to live.
Since the “Desertion,” as stragglers bitterly dubbed the journey to space, two centuries has passed. Now there were merely a handful of humans everywhere but what used to be major cities. New York was dangerous and cruel, known for its contribution to the contamination of Earth and its factories on the edges of the city that pumped sludge into the rivers, and smoke into the sky. Its buildings crashed to the ground frequently, causing earthquakes that destroyed subway tunnels, either annihilating people or condemning them to darkness and starvation. In this way, besides the horrendous conditions, living above ground was almost impossible. Still, short, frequent trips to the surface were necessary, to search for things to burn for light and warmth, and other supplies. Leftovers from the Desertion were what kept the remainder of humanity alive. And the masks.
A company, before the Desertion, began to produce masks that resembled ancient gas masks (because of a trend going around where ancient artifacts/remnants of former humans became fashionable). Using filters that were supposed to last “forever,” and self-cleaned, they were mass-produced and sold to millions. They helped clear your lungs, and it was the first time in many years that any human breathed “fresh” air in the city. But, soon enough, so many people left Earth that the company shut down, and even left masks still in boxes in their hurry to evacuate and not miss the last ships. The remainders of the masks were used until most left, and by then, their technology became faulty, where the filters no longer maintained themselves as well, or at all, anymore. Stragglers stuffed fabric into the masks in place of filters, changing them frequently, but it was never the same again.
A fallen building provides temporary respite from the wind and air, and near it is an entrance to a seemingly vacant subway, a fork in the track separating the tunnel into two. Signs of life are around it, sheets already maneuvered around collapsed metal frames and wood by the entrance to form a “door”, but a layer of dust on the fabric shows inactivity. Whoever was there had left, or has died inside. The subways are the only “safe” places to live. It will be hard, but not impossible. Are you ready?
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