The Dawn

 

by

Megan Lamoreux

Dawn opened her eyes in her home. Cool, blue light filtered in through the window sending familiar patterns over the walls, the dresser, her bed, her face. The patterns drifted about her room, cool and comforting, so like life as she had known it so far. She had grown up in this world of drifting, shifting lights; here with her father, here in First City.

She rolled out of bed and walked lazily through the floating aquatic lights to their source, and looked out into the watery landscape swirling just inches from her behind the glass. Years after man had conquered the moon and the stars, he still knew very little about the seas of his own planet. With the rest of earth’s children scattered throughout the universe, earth herself left wasted and tired, the remainder of her people took to the seas where they found new frontiers, new sources of energy, and a new way of life.

First City sat on an undersea plateau leagues below sea level. A few miles off the coast of what was once Florida, First City represented the first permanent human outpost in earth’s final unconquered territory. And although First City was indeed the first, she was far from the last. Like earth herself, First City had been left behind hundreds of years ago, as man delved deeper and deeper into the oceans and became as dispersed throughout the seas as their sundered brothers were throughout the stars. Across the ocean floor, snorkels snaked up to the surface bringing air to the cities beneath, but no other contact with the atmosphere had been made in centuries. First City, though novel in heritage and rich in history, remained the shallowest and closest aquatic city to the nearly forgotten shore, having been built at a time when men had preferred the land to the sea.

Dawn had grown up here, on the outskirts of her civilization, though the fact had never impeded her enjoyment of her tranquil life. She turned her gaze from her bedroom’s seascape view, dressed in her warm, white clothes, and headed out the door for the school and Mrs. Johnson’s sixth grade class. Her thoughts were on the events of the day and not on her surroundings as she closed the door to her and her father’s home.

The rooms sighed and extinguished their lights, then fell still and silent. Only then could the faint drip-dripping be heard, accompanied by the steady trickle of water seeping from around the window, running down the bedroom wall, and soaking into the clean, white carpet. The dusky rooms remained silent as the drip-dripping continued, and the water filled the carpet, expanding outward for anyone to see.

But no one looked, and so no one saw.

The fissure was born at the base of the City’s great dome. It grew longer and wider as it sought out new paths, creeping slowly up the sides of the city’s glass fortress. This fortress: the pride of mankind, their key to the depths, their crowning achievement. The fissure traveled, searching, splitting, scoffing, disdainful. It mocked their arrogance and grew deeper. It crawled about the city as her inhabitants did not look, and did not see, and therefor did not suspect. They had conquered the sea, tamed and domesticated it. What had once been the great unknown was now charted. Great seaplanes traveled between the flourishing cities daily, and their domes stood fast, unshaken, unconquerable. Such was their society: tranquil, strong, and balanced, as it existed far beneath the tempests and trials of the surface.

Somewhere in the labyrinthine depths of City, a small red light flicked on in the silence. It blinked its warning, “Danger! Danger!” to anyone who would see, but no one did. The fissure continued on its way, cool, dark, menacing, and unnoticed.

 

Within the city, two million people worked, worked, worked. Stocks were exchanged, purchases made, schools attended, businesses run and patronized, industry created. Everyone doing, doing, doing; no one seeing. The city lived and thrived – an undersea anthill teeming with human ingenuity and skill. All around, the city raced on as the light silently screamed its warning, “See me, Danger! Danger! Danger! See me, See me!” Finally, a man passed through the dusty room on his way to more important ones, but he stood still as he noticed the light – blinking, blinking. “Danger, danger.” The man stood still as the city raced on around him, eyes wide, and his heart chilled at what he saw. With a cold hand he punched the button below the light, and listened as klaxons began to sound in the distance and echo about the city.

 

The stockbroker looked up from his figures, the businessman from his customer, and the doctor from his surgery as the klaxons pealed through the city and assaulted their ears, “Danger, danger!” they cried, “Listen! Danger!” And so the city opened its eyes and the people saw that they had neglected to notice. Always looking forward, ever forward to the future, to the knowledge they would gain, to the frontiers they had yet to conquer, they had failed to look about. Their great city was wounded. They touched the walls and felt its pain as water coursed down the glass. They looked up and saw the dome, man’s great achievement that kept them safe in their watery home, and cried at the sight. Their beloved sea had been turned against them.

Who could have expected the unexpected, imagined the unimaginable? Never before had the sea seemed hostile, never before had the klaxons blared. “Danger, danger, hear us! Danger!” Shock turned to pain turned to anger turned to fear. The city stood still, and they heard the water around them. The fissure continued to run, run, run around the city, scornful of the people’s egoism, and they felt its repugnance.

 

What emotions, what thoughts, accompany such an affront? How does one respond to the unimaginable? The denizens of First City ran from their work, their play, their pies and their paintings. They asked not why or where or how much, but who. Their hearts cried out, “Where’s Billy?” “Where’s Sue?” “Where’s my mother, my father, my life?” They sought out their cherished ones and hastened to leave, to escape, to flee from this place that was their home.

As the City ran about, gathering and holding, her Caretakers battled the fissure. “Faster, faster!” they cried, but the fissure was too strong, too keen, and too fast for them. They turned instead to her people, their duty to protect and to lead. “Come, come, this way!” They lead them to safety: the doctors, the businessmen, and the stockbrokers, all. The children and the mothers and fathers. They sealed doors as they went, their battle now with Time and the water that leaked and rose. Among them a man’s heart groaned, “My daughter! My Dawn!” as he ushered others onward, ever onward. “The seaplanes will take us, to the seaplanes, the seaplanes!”

 

Dawn rushed onward with the crowd – her teachers and peers and other adults - ever forward, forward.

 

“Danger! Danger!” The klaxons blared. She thought of the gentle patterns that filled her room in the mornings, of her soft, white carpet, and her father, as she waded through the cold, bitter water that filled the streets.

 

“Danger! Danger!”

She boarded the seaplane with the others, looking over her shoulder as she stepped through the airlock. Through the crowd pressing behind her, she saw the familiar face, the most precious face – the telltale eyes, the greying hair – her father pushed through the crowd and wrapped her in his big, safe arms. They moved forward with the crowd, pressing as closely as possible into the narrow fuselage of the passenger vessel. “A few more, a few more!” The doors shut and there was silence. They held their breath and each other close as the sea-lock filled with water and their craft slowly lifted from the floor.

The seaplane sped away from their city, their home, the pinnacle of man’s triumph, and they saw their mistake. Having rested on the laurels of their progenitors, they had looked ever forward and forgotten to look about; content upon the safety and security of their lives, they had made no provision for the unexpected. They had sought for what they did not have instead of enjoying the bounty of their generation.

Countless other seaplanes accompanied them in their exodus. To their left and right, they saw other faces in other windows – eyes wide - and all was silence. In the silence they watched their city crumble, its great glass walls succumb to the insidious Fissure, the epitome of their folly. How many had escaped; how many had remained? These questions, thoughts, and emotions rang in the silence, and the seaplane sailed onward, outward.

 

“Sir, we were unable to fully refuel or restock our air supply before leaving First City. We are hours – too many hours – away from the nearest city. It seems we have escaped only to be stranded and suffocated.” The Captain stood, his shoulders squared despite the tremendous weight placed on them. “There is an alternative.” He stated, simply. The young officer stared in stunned silence, then nodded his assent.

“Head for the surface.”

The tinny announcement broke the silence as they felt the vessel change its course. “Prepare to surface.”

They broke through the water into the airy darkness, and an alien wind buffeted the hull. All was darkness about them, though they saw the glints and lights of other seaplanes surfacing around them. They unsealed the hatches and breathed in the stark, salty air. They heard the squawking calls of the creatures History called birds. As the sky lightened, they saw the gulls’ flight and were amazed. Such wonders really existed! Such marvelous creatures! The sun broke over what History called the Horizon, and the sea-people shut their eyes to the bright sunlight that pierced the darkness and assaulted their minds. Such light was blinding to them, having lived the full extent of their lives in the quiet, filtered, semi-darkness of the depths.

Dawn opened her eyes slowly. She squinted in her namesake, the beautiful Dawn she had never Seen or Imagined; and she concluded that Life, indeed, was not what it had seemed.