Oh, hey. I'm (very slowly) writing a book. It's set thousands of years in the future, and follows the last generation of people on Earth. Within their lifetimes, the sun will engulf and destroy the planet. Sounds fun, right? This is Chapter 1, and it's rough - so please be kind.
Sayer Thackville stared at her cuticles – more out of nerves than anything else, but also because they were more interesting than her other options: white walls, white floors, white overhead lights. The whole office staff dressed in white one-piece jumpsuits with “Department of Civilian Compliance” embroidered in frilly blue script over the right breast pocket, and it looked ridiculous. Sayer was complying, wasn’t she? After all, she’d at least shown up to her designated appointment.
Sayer’s summons had arrived just like all of her friends’ had: one unassuming Tuesday morning, the holographic blue light at the end of her sleeping bunk blinked twice, and that all-too-cheery programmed voice began to read her message aloud.
Thackville comma Sayer. Date of Birth March 12 comma Cycle Whiskey comma Rotation Lima. Your presence is required in Quadrant 9 comma Building 7 on March 13 comma Cycle Whiskey comma Rotation Romeo at 0800 hours. This date is firm comma and may not be rescheduled. We look forward to serving you. With kindness comma the staff at the Department of Civilian Compliance.
Her bunkmates averted their eyes. Sayer managed a smile, and shrugged half-heartedly. “When ya gotta go, ya gotta go,” she joked. Then she slumped down beneath the wool blankets, listened to the electronic whir of the appointment being added to her calendar, and sighed deeply. The relief was palpable; though she dreaded the appointment, she reveled in the knowledge that tomorrow night, someone else’s light would blink, and someone else’s robot would deliver the news. She wouldn’t have to dread hearing “Thackville comma Sayer” ever again.
“Thackville?”
Sayer blinked.
“Sayer Thackville?
Sayer looked up at the kind-yet-irritated intake nurse before her. The short, stout woman whisked Sayer’s digital documentation back and forth in front of her with a very pointed pointer finger, and Sayer knew she was likely on the third or fourth repetition of her name. Her cuticles went white, then blue.
“Sorry about that. I’m here,” Sayer whispered.
“That’s alright. This way, please, and we’ll get your vitals.”
Sayer stepped onto one of the white cubes on the ground, and the walls shot up and enclosed her completely. A green light flicked on at the top of the cube, ran quickly down the sides, and stopped beneath Sayer’s feet. The nurse poked her head in, pressed two fingers of her magnetized glove together, and projected the results on the right wall.
“Everything looks fine. Did you know you’re 5’9’’?! We had 5’7’’ in your records!”
“Oh, uh, no. Growth spurt I guess,” Sayer managed. “What about my blood pressure, though? Doesn’t that look a little high?”
“Nothing to worry about,” chirped the nurse. “We see slightly elevated blood pressure all the time in young people who come in for their procedure. Follow me, please.”
Sayer nodded meekly, and continued to stare at her vitals. A height of 5 feet, 9 inches meant she was definitely the tallest woman in her family – taller than her Aunt Susan, whom her dad was fond of calling “The Sasquatch.” Nobody made it to 5’9’’ anymore – men very seldom even did – but there it was on the wall all the same.
It seemed no one was going to keep the Thackvilles down - perhaps literally. Sayer’s gaze shifted to her hands again, which she turned from palm to knuckles and back again, sure she could already see them growing thick with grey fur. Sasquatch.
“Miss Thackville?”
Sayer’s eyes snapped up, and the nurse’s met them patiently.
“This way, please. The doctor is ready for you.”
Sayer felt like she was slogging through waist-deep mud, but she made her way down the narrow hallway. High-definition photos of smiling young people, all about Sayer’s age, smiled back at her from their projections on the walls. Some of them were dressed in business attire and leading meetings. One was throwing her head back and laughing as she treaded water in a cave’s lagoon. Another was painting a digital picture of what must have been the sky. It was a nice effort, Sayer thought. Presumably meant to show patients like herself, thousands of whom had passed down this hallway before her and thousands of whom would come after, that there was still so much to live for – so much you could do. The new normal was just around the corner, wearing three-button suits and painting pictures of a landscape no one had seen in billions of years.
Sayer stopped short, and nearly knocked over the nurse, who had stopped to press her thumb to the wall. With a whoosh, it snapped open, revealing an exam room the size of a broom closet. It was painfully obvious that the Department of Civilian Compliance had tried – unsuccessfully – to get creative with these rooms. This one was a carbon copy of the waiting room Sayer had just left, except all that was white was now blue – blue furniture, blue exam table, thin blue backless gown folded neatly at the foot of the “bed.” The nurse looked back at Sayer, smiled tightly, and raised her eyebrows in excitement. “Woo-hoo,” thought Sayer.
“You’ll need to undress completely from the waist down, but you can leave your shirt and bra on if you like. Just leave your things on the pretty blue chair over there. There are blankets in the second drawer under the exam table if you get chilly. Dr. Chambers will be with you shortly, okay? Everything’s going to be fine, Miss Thackville! I’ll be waiting for you in recovery.”
The door whooshed shut and clicked with finality. Sayer wondered how many times the nurse had repeated that little speech to other girls who were precisely 18 and 1 day old.
Within minutes, the entertainment value the room had to offer was exhausted. Highlights from the day’s news scrolled idly by on the back of the door. This was a smart place to put them, since undoubtedly everyone who had ever been trapped within the Blue Broom Closet had fixated there (either because a doctor would come through it shortly, or they were fantasizing about fleeing through it before he arrived). Ironically, a large chart of human fetal development hung on the right wall, which made Sayer snort with amusement. Bored, she flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling, where a simulation of clouds formed childish shapes like bunny rabbits and dragons. It was all too cute for comfort, and Sayer shifted onto her left side to stare at the blank wall.
A doorbell gently chimed, and the door whooshed open again. This time, a confident, bearded man wearing scrubs strode in.
“You must be Sayer! I’m Dr. Chambers. Let’s get this over with, huh?”
Sayer liked him instantly. “Yes – PLEASE let’s.”
“Your chart says you’re 5’9’’! That’s insane. What, do you come from giants or something?”
“Sasquatches, actually.”
Dr. Chambers laughed genuinely, as he pulled down his mask and repositioned the large blue light over the exam table.
“With a sense of humor like that, it’s a shame we’ve got to sterilize you today.”
“Thanks for that. That almost makes this bearable,” Sayer said flatly, closing her eyes.
“Alright, here we go. Apologies in advance, but you’re going to feel a big pinch.”
Sayer found that explanation to be the understatement of the year. Something that felt like a lobster claw clamped down hard against her cervix, and shooting pain radiated up her chest and down her legs. The light in the Blue Broom Closet exploded into bright white, then back to blue. Blue to purple. Purple to grey. Grey to black.