The Earthless Ground

An old man and a young woman make a crucial choice as the world crumbles around them.

 “Good evening nation, and a happy new year to everyone tonight as 2242 comes to a close. As we ring in the New Year, one thing is on everyone’s minds tonight, and it is tonight’s top story. Overpopulation, just how bad is it, and how is it affecting us? All over the world, cities are being turned upside down as people riot, murder, and set up camp �" desperately looking for a place to sleep and something to eat.”

I shut the screen off, leaning back in my chair. I didn’t want to hear anymore. The leather chair I sat in hugged me, knowing my form well. I started on a sigh, but it manifested into a fit of coughing out my insides for several minutes. I was used to them by now, the coughing fits. You learn to live with them over the years. Hell, I hardly notice them at this point, they come so frequently. This one was a bit less forgiving than most. Taking my mouth away from the cheap napkin I kept tucked away in my pocket for such episodes, red blotches grinned back at me. I grimaced at the sight. Perhaps it was time I saw what the doctor had to say this month. I had been going fairly regularly for the past few, but had stopped suddenly, stubbornly thinking I might be improving.

              Sitting in the car, I said “Doctor’s office,” aloud to the dash and the car took me on its way. Closing my eyes, I reached for a cigarette, placing it between my teeth. My lungs protested, wheezing and sucking at the artificial air flowing through the AC. I paused a moment to get myself together. Letting the window down just a crack, I struck the lighter with professional ease and touched the wavering flame to the cig. The stench of human feces, sweat, and urine poured in the window. I glanced out, taking in the images of the outside world. There wasn’t a bit of green grass to be seen, only trash and concrete. Enormous camps of people stretched out for miles. Tents were practically on top of each other. All of them were only looking for a place to sleep at night. Small groups of people huddled around trash can fires, holding their hands out for warmth.

The view disappeared as my car hit the underground highway, dodging cars as we practically flew towards our destination. The highway was fairly new, and the politicians told us it would effectively solve the problem of overpopulation in the cities. Without the use of streets on the over world, more buildings could be built, providing apartments for millions of people in the city; or so they said. But for many it was just more housing for the rich, the people that could actually afford to have their own place. For millions of others, tent cities was their life. Driven out of the city, they were forced to start up the camps. And every day they only grew larger.

              We pulled up slowly to the unloading dock of the office. I grabbed the cane I kept in the car for longer walks like these and strapped on my surgical mask. As I hobbled towards the elevator doors, my car whizzed off to find a parking spot. I pressed 233 on the keypad, blasting off into the building above me.

              Dr. Wilburn looked me over with a bored expression. “Mr. Holden, it’s quite obvious to me that you have in no way improved since I last saw you. In just the short time you’ve been here, you have had to stop and cough for several minutes three times. These days we all have some breathing trouble but the damage to your lungs is much more extensive than the day to day wear and tear of breathing in the outside air. Have you attempted to stop smoking since we spoke two months ago?”

 “Have I tried? Of course I’ve tried to quit. But it’s easier said than done. I’d like to see you try it.”

              “Sir, I don’t smoke. I never have, and don’t plan on starting.”

              Dr. Wilburn sighed, “Mr. Holden I suggest you stop smoking immediately, and continue to take the medications as I have prescribed previously as well as trying to limit the amount of time you spend outside. If you must go out, make certain you wear a surgical mask. Doing so is in all of our best interests.”

              Back home now, I stared out the air-tight sliding door that led to my backyard. It hardly deserved the title now. The same place where as a kid I’d go and transform the yard into the high seas or some other planet, on the hunt for aliens and other treasures had now made a completely different transformation. Years ago, the sunshine broke and scattered through the leaves of a huge oak tree onto the greenest grass you’ve ever seen. Da Vinci himself could’ve mashed the stuff up into a paste and used it, it was so perfectly green. Now the tree that once looked over the whole yard, king in its castle was hardly a stump, cut down from its’ throne. The grass beneath the once noble tree could hardly pass for dirt now. The ground was a graveyard of miscellaneous trash of all sorts. Broken bits of glass and other trash littered the ground and many supposed “cleaning” chemicals choked it. Not a single bit of organic life could be seen. The sun that once shone brightly over it all was veiled behind curtains of constant smog, giving everything an eerie yellow look to it.

              I remember so vividly when those men came and did this to my beautiful yard. It must have been oh, five or six years back. Four of them had barged in while I was smoking a cigar and watching TV. They flashed badges at me, talking too fast for me to understand what exactly was going on. Before I knew it they were digging up the dirt, grass, aliens, and sea monsters of my childhood from underneath my beautiful yard and putting in their garbage. I remember them saying something about how it would all decompose in a few months, everyone around the nation was doing it. Doing their part for the country they said. Well I must not have been the only one it didn’t work for because here I am a year later and haven’t seen a green yard since. That is to say I’m one of the few to even have a yard anymore. Enormous apartment complexes have been popping up for several decades, and with each new building thousands abandoned their homes for the steel-grey skyscrapers that now dominated the suburbs.

              The apartments were some of the most dangerous areas these days. People were constantly fighting over rooms, trying to claim them as their own just so they could have a warm place to sleep.

              Ever since they dumped their trash in my yard it’s never been the same. That was when the smoking started getting really bad. Not only that, but that what when the noises started. At first I waved it off, telling myself I was just getting old. It happens to everyone once they start fraying a bit around the edges. You start hearing things that are only in your head. But the sounds just wouldn’t stop. I could’ve sworn it was coming from the yard, like something was screaming out beneath the mounds of rubbish those men had dumped here. It sounded like a cry for help, wanting me to save it from being stuck down there forever. Damn, I really might be going crazy. I decided another trip to the doctor might be a good idea.

              On the way to the office it looked like things had only gotten worse. The protests at a few of the tent cities had turned violent, rioting against the police barricade and trying to storm some of the more upscale apartments. A few of the police had even thrown down their riot gear, joining in with the mob. There were also protests going on in the highway.  Traffic was stopped up for miles. After almost an hour, I reached the doctor’s office.

              “Mr. Holden, what seems to be the problem this time?” Dr. Wilburn sighed, gazing off beyond me. “Still wondering why you can’t climb Everest and sprint a marathon?”

              “Hush, that’s not what I’m here about. I came to get a psychological evaluation”

Dr. Wilburn snapped out of his daze. “Psych eval? Those cigs starting to eat away at your brain too?”

 I huffed, “You better watch that mouth kid. I just don’t seem myself lately and -”

 “Look, I can get you a psychological evaluation, but you’ll have to wait here a while. The only person qualified to give you one is Dr. Terri. She’s on lunch break right now and doesn’t like being disturbed.”

And so I waited, staring at the white washed walls of the room and trying to pass the time. The blank stares of the stuffed animals suspended from the ceiling looked at nothing in particular. I decided closing my eyes might be a better idea.

Finally someone knocked on the door, jolting me awake. A young, twenty-something woman whom I assumed was Dr. Terri entered before I could say anything, sitting herself across from me.

“So, Mr. Holden, I’m Dr. Terri. Here for a psychological evaluation? She beamed, her wide glasses glinting in the fluorescent light.

I grumbled back in response.

“And it says here that you requested one on your own accord,” she said, looking intently at a paper-thin tablet in her hands. Dr. Terri raised her eyebrows, “That’s a first.”

I laughed, “Let’s just get this over with so you can ship me off to see what size straight jacket I am.”

She ran through the evaluation, poking me from all sides with questions. I told her all about the sounds I had been hearing from my yard, how long I had been hearing them, all the details. “Any issues you’re taking medication for?”

Just then I broke into a fit of coughing, wheezing for several minutes before I could compose myself. Dr. Terri sat patiently all the while, waiting for me to respond.

“Just stuff for my bad lungs, can’t quit smoking, and the air doesn’t help” I said quietly. “I see,” said Dr. Terri, scribbling something on the tablet. “Well that’s it Mr. Holden, you’re fine. One-hundred percent sane. But please call me if you continue to hear those noises.” She handed me a small business card with her name and number on it.

The visit to the doctor was more enjoyably than usual, and while I was happy to be sane I couldn’t help but wonder what it was I had heard. For a few months the sounds went away, reaffirmed in my newfound sanity. Things went back to normal and I had nearly forgotten about the whole ordeal.

And then the sounds started up again, worse than ever before. I decided a call to Dr. Terri wasn’t a bad idea. After an exasperated phone call she was on her way.

There came a knock on the door. I opened it. Dr. Terri rushed in, slamming the door behind her and locking it.

              “You should see it out there. It’s like a warzone, people trying to break into apartments,” she said.

 Leaning on the door, she removed her surgical mask. “You have a house?” she asked looking around, “I haven’t seen one of these in years!” Just then a blood-curdling screech came from the yard. “S**t,” she whispered under her breath. “You were serious.”

 I nodded grimly. “They’re even worse than they were last time. It sounds a lot more aggressive now. Look, I say we just dig this thing up. What’s the worst thing it could be?” I said.

Dr. Terri nodded her agreement.

We grabbed some shovels from the garage and put on surgical masks, venturing out into the yard. From behind my house we could see that things were only getting worse. People were rioting and looting everywhere. The world was falling apart at the hinges and there was nothing anyone could do. We started digging immediately. The ground came away in chunks of trash with each shovelful. A few car parts here and some old clothes there, we dug deeper and deeper, the sound becoming louder with every inch. Every few shovelfuls I was forced to stop and try to catch my breath. It was slow work, and I was the one slowing us the most. We kept digging, disregarding the volume of whatever it was we were coming towards. With one more plunge of shovel into the garbage I hit something very different. There was a deep thud as my shovel came into contact with the object. Dr. Terri and I looked at each other, excited yet nervous. Dr. Terri got down and dug out the last few pieces of trash before reaching it. As soon as she touched it the noise stopped suddenly. She brought up a simple wooden box in very good shape compared to the trash it was surrounded by. We looked at each other again, confused. We rushed back into the house for a closer look.

The box was a very dark wood, almost black. But its knots and grain were easily visible. This thing was older than I could’ve imagined. Nothing had been made out of wood since before I was born - it was too hot a commodity to be used on things like this. It was simply decorated, on its face was the year 2143, blinking bright red, yelling at me to open it. I noticed a lock on the front of it lacking a key-hole or any other means of unlocking it. I went to try and open it, thinking that it was still locked. Surprisingly, it opened and before I could go too far shut it again, not feeling ready to see its’ contents.

“Well?” said Dr. Terri, “open it!”  I shot a sharp look back, annoyed with her impatience. Very slowly, I opened the box. There was no blast of light, no sudden explosion. There was only two airtight bags and some papers in its shallow depths. I unfolded the first piece of paper �" it was a letter.

“2243,

              We the world leaders of the year 2143 have come together to devise a plan in order to save the world from complete destruction if the current state of the planet does not improve. We are on the brink of nuclear war and we wish to ensure humanity does not cease. Enclosed in this box are two bags. The first contains one of the last saplings on the planet, and we have included instructions regarding how to care for it. If you, the world leaders of 2243 believe that humanity is able to be preserved at this point, please use this to begin reinstating biological life to the planet. The other bag however, contains a deadly pathogen. Release this to the world, and the human population will rapidly fall, eventually wiping out most of humanity. From our mathematical findings it is most likely that the human population by 2243 will be far too great to be sustained. We have included a number of the only vaccines for this pathogen as well as directions to a secure bunker that you may remain at until the smoke clears so that you can start over. We trust in your wisdom to make the right choice for the people of 2243.

Best, 2143”

               I looked at Dr. Terri, all the color drained from her face.

“This…this can’t be real” she said quietly, “Some sort of prank, yes that’s it, a clever trick. Or maybe…maybe...”

We were quiet, staring at the vast expanse of text that had proclaimed us murderers, saviors, and everything in between. Our eyes met, staring deep into the chasms of each other’s pupils.

We looked away from each other. All around us, the world was falling apart. Fires were raging everywhere, people were murdering each other in the streets for food, apartments were burning to the ground.

Our eyes met once more and we nodded, knowing there was only one logical choice. Taking the bag out of the box, we saved the world.