[ . ❝ sanctus espiritus

[calliopë]

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flo's challenge. don't expect anything great
out of me because i suck & by now i am sure
you're fully aware of that

[calliopë]

Ｉ ＯＮＬＹ ＳＰＥＡＫ ＴＨＥ ＴＲＵＴＨ
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A single sign dotted a vacant road, peppered with cars no longer occupied. A fluorescent bulb above the withering proclamation of a fascinating fact about the particular dome in which the sign was located flickered. A dull thrum of static accompanied the sterile glow that showered the green sign. Against the dark, the words scrawled in large print seemed to scream – they must be heard.

Andromeda is one of five domes that still retain natural foliage harvested from the Before. Plantlife thrives under our controlled atmosphere. Visit the Visitor’s Center to see a rose! A real live flower!

The bulb overhanging the sign by a rusty arm shattered into a thousand pieces by the grace of a bullet from a smoldering chamber.
Breathing heavy, Sloane glared through a curtain of dark curls, her face trembling. Now there would be no more visiting of any kind – the flowers would die. The systems would shut down. With the plant life, she supposed, she would wither, too. Sloane’s arms wound their way around her waist, clutching herself. She had already destroyed at least seven of those damn signs – maybe more than that. They were creepy; she didn’t need them anyway. A waste of energy.

A puff of white burst from her lips in the form of a cough, her hand reaching to wipe her nose. She had never imagined just how cold it could truly be. Since the break of the quarantine and the evacuation that left her behind, Andromeda had been returned to the hands of the Old Earth. Her eyes drifted to the far East wall, where it had all gone wrong in the first place. Her lips made a thin line, creasing her face. She could still here the violent cracking of the vaults, the metallic grinding of the safety locks failing. Another shiver racked her spine. She’d never be able to forget the chill of the wind as it had rushed through the gaping doors, carrying with it the virus that plagued the very air. Admittedly, the flow of the breeze brought forth through the outside, rather than circulating panels overhead brought forth a new sense to her lungs – a fulfilling experience she had never thought possible simply from taking a breath.

Sloane had to wonder if her parents, her peers, had gotten the pleasure of a brief wisp of air – unmanufactured by the dome – but real, natural air. Had they slapped masks over their faces immediately? Had they not even gotten to feel the tickle of a gust over their untouched skin? It made her a little sadder than it probably should have to think their experiences of leaving Andromeda without the last withering touch of the world they’d been protected from for so long. Sloane’s eyes traveled to cut a glance at the intimidating, curving walls that kept her confined in the dome. If she could just find a way to those doors near the top.

“Earth to Sloane,” a sudden pop from the radio hitched to her shoulder by its breaking clip startled the girl. She sighed, narrowing her eyes. Did he never sleep?

“What do you want now?” She demanded, jamming her thumb into the receiver.

“Wanna tell me why you’re wandering around outside when it’s colder than a polar bear’s nose?”

“Wanna tell me why you’re watching me?” She quipped. It irked her that this stranger, whom didn’t even feel safe enough with her to disclose his name, seemed to have a constant vigil over her. She didn’t even know whether or not to believe he was really outside of the dome. He could easily be watching her from the surveillance towers and she would never know the better. Sloane wrinkled her face. “How do you know it’s cold?” She asked. “The bears in Zeta are probably all warm and cozy in their sleeping boxes.”

Zeta, one of the other domes that contained wildlife from the past, happened to hold the last remaining species of bear to be salvaged. The panda, the polar bear, and something else that had stripes on its tail and a mask around its little eyes. Sloane was quite certain this creature – whose name she’d forgotten – was not, in fact, a bear, but her father had always insisted they were. She briefly recalled him naming them a “trash panda”, but that just didn’t seem… accurate.

“For your information,” Sloane began, not giving Seven time to continue. She hoped he would not request her to switch radio stations, as her name for him would be null then. He did not sound like a two or a three. Maybe a five? Nah. “I accidently caught my blanket on fire and I need to find a new one. That warehouse is very cold and I am tired of sleeping in those metal pipes.”

There was silence that brought a smile to her face. She could hear a camera attached to the flickering street lamps buzz around, following her footsteps.

“I’d ask, but.”

“No, no,” she encouraged, smirking now. “Go ahead, ask.”

He sighed into his receiver. It made her cringe. “Why did you set your blanket on fire?”

“Because I tried to blow the generator up thinking maybe it would unlock all the valves and open the exit doors so I can get out of here,” she said, too cheery.

“So you set your blanket on fire?”

“Well, I did shove it into a jug of vodka first,” she said, defending herself.

“Oh, Sloane,” Seven sighed. He seemed to backtrack then. “Hey, wait a minute. Slow down.”

“Up yours, man,” Sloane snarked. “I’m cold. The sooner I can get to the Exchange the better. I know they have blankets and maybe even a cot.”

“No,” he retorted the moment Sloane fell silent. “Sloane, I see something. Please. Listen. Hide yourself, quick.”

Her stomach fell to the gritty asphalt at her feet. She felt her legs go numb. The air seemed to be far more cold than she thought probable. Her hands fluttered to her radio, turning down the volume for fear of being spotted. Could Sam still be trying to hunt her down? She thought she’d taken care of him days ago. She drew in a ragged breath, pressing back against the cover of a bush on the side of the road.

“Oh, God, that’s not good,” Seven whispered.

“Spit it out, jerkwad,” Sloane snarled. “What is it?”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be getting anything from the Exchange.”

Her heart dropped. “Is it sealed? I didn’t think there were vault locks on those doors. They’re just glass.”

“No, Sloane,” Seven warned, seriously. “It’s on fire.”

So Sam was still alive – or something very unfortunate had happened. She hoped for the latter, no matter how treacherous it might be. Furrowing her brows, Sloane stepped out of her shelter and picked up a brisk jog, racing down the rest of the road with the bitter wind biting her cheeks.

“Sloane!” Seven snapped. “Are you insane? Don’t you dare go near there. You don’t even know what’s wrong with that place! What if Sam survived? I can’t always pull tricks to get you out of things, you know. Hey. Are you listening to me?”

“With an annoying voice like that, Seven, I honestly don’t think anyone wants to listen to you.”

“Are you kidding me? Sloane, this isn’t funny.”

“I only speak the truth.”

Sloane slowed near another camera, looking it right in its eyepiece. She craned her head, pressing the button on her receiver.

“I’m sorry, buddy, I’m- I- going through a- tunn- tunnel-” She switched off the power. Shrugging her shoulders while flashing her pearly teeth at the twisting camera. It moved back and forth as if to say no. Losing all trace of humor, the girl turned her head to glare at the sky. There, sure enough, hidden behind the thick cluster of pine trees in the center of the trading square, orange flickers poked through the leaves. Straightening her shoulders, the brunette took off at an even sprint, racing toward the unknown.

It appeared that there were more important things than blankets to find.