Broken Glass

I walked into the room and looked around at the dome. The entire room was covered by what used to be a beautiful glass dome. Metal, wood, and other precious resources had been used to cover and patch it up. The cover only went up about four feet and not even all the way around the room. Most of the uncovered glass had been broken and scavenged, to be traded for heat or food. The steel supports remained; too heavy to be taken. To my left, one of the dignitaries put his hand against the glass, broke it, and put the piece in his pocket. When he removed his hand, there was a bright red gash from the sharp glass.

            The room grew exceeding louder as more and more dignitaries filed into the room. The more packed in, the more they continued to argue. It was a hundredth scale of the problems outside. As a gust of wind brought with it a foul stench and all the dignitaries put their noses in their sleeves. Some of them even glared at the broken window as if it caused this repugnant odor. The world’s greatest leaders are brought together into a room, and all they care about is the smell. If it were winter, they would be complaining to each other about the heat problems. I stood off to the side as the rest of the press claimed seats at the table.

            There were only five members of the press invited to this event. There were only fifteen world leaders who gathered at it. They sat at the round tables along one side of the room. As a child, I had learned of the hundreds of countries that had existed long ago, but now it was impossible to imagine. How did the world manage with all of those differing countries? I waited by the door for the first question. No one asked any of the questions I would have asked. Do you feel guilty about what the extravagant use of fossil fuels has done to the world?

            “Do you think this crisis could have in anyway been prevented?” one of the few reporters I liked asked. One of the dignitaries sidestepped the question with a textbook “Let’s not think about the past” answer. I turned my back to the conference and looked out over the city. This dome used to be one of the best views in the city. It looked out over the entire city and, beyond, the bay. When the sun rose or set the entire dome acted as a prism. I never got to see the beauty; it was desecrated before I was born.

            The bay was a sickening green color and there was no longer any beach. Tiny houses had been built along the beach after the energy crisis so they did not even have wiring. Copper was all but gone by the time they were built.  There was no metal or plastic to build pipes either, so that meant no indoor plumbing. Our entire world was devolving due to a lack of resources.

            “Anna,” one of the reporters snapped me out of my thoughts.

            “Hi Paul.” I smiled as I turned away from the empty window.

            “So, it’s been a long time.”

            “Has anything really changed though?” He shrugged, but I knew he was tallying up how much was the same as three years ago. All of these leaders had been in power then, and they all had the same blasé attitude toward the crisis. Probably the only thing different was my attitude toward it. Three years ago I had just started becoming aware of how serious it was. Three years ago the city had been rotting, and it still was. Three years ago, however, I lived at home. Throughout the past three years I have spent time in and out of the shanties. I learned how to live as if you could die any second. I learned what it was like to go for weeks without food; to spend a winter without heat.

            “How are things going?” I bit my lip. Paul was press, and I knew that part of his interest was that he was fishing.

            “How does it look like they’re going?” I asked, gesturing outside.

            “Are there any plans to find a new energy source?” I pushed past Paul when someone asked this question and looked at the dignitaries from behind. One of them stood up and Paul slid behind me to get to his seat.

            “There is already a process being made to reopen the old power plant and convert it to process Desminium.” My mouth dropped and the reporters all jumped up.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

            When they discovered Desminium, I was there. The wealthy owner of the mine was named Martin Desmin- hence the name. I heard about every step of trying to process it. It couldn’t be burned, broken, nor did it react with most of the chemicals they tried. Finally someone combined one-half of a gram with salt water, which resulted in the destruction of both of the man’s hands. It took two meters of concrete to contain two grams of the element. It was extremely efficient at boiling water- and it turns out that it reacted with the salt and not the water- so now it was to be used for energy.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

            It had been announced earlier about the discovery of Desminium and that it could be used as an energy source, but it was told that it could not be used in any of the abandoned power plants existing. Now the politicians said that they could convert the old uranium plants to process Desminium. I was surprised that they even cared about getting more energy. None of the world leaders had to worry about losing access to their energy. All of their consumption is what left nothing for the majority of the population.

            Paul looked at me and I could tell he was wondering if I knew about this. I did, of course, but I also knew about the other side of it. After most of world’s resources disappeared, it was pointless to waste them to make weapons. Desminium, however, turned into an extremely lethal waste product after the chemical reaction. The man who discovered the process died only two weeks after being exposed to it.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

            In the main market area of the city, illegal items are the only things sold. No houses have windows anymore because anything that could make them is taken out to be sold for wood. Wood is the most valuable thing in the world at the moment, because it is so easy to create heat with. When I first visited the Black Market, as it called, I unknowingly came with things to sell. My necklace was made of silver and I had on a silk jacket. These two alone could have gotten me a week’s worth of firewood.

Unlike the markets of long ago, there are no stalls or stores. People have few enough possessions that they are wearing or carrying everything worth selling. Sometimes, people are wearing everything they own. I looked at the beautiful treasures that people were trading for mere twigs. There was also a lot of, what I considered, junk.  Pieces of glass, copper wiring, scraps of metal. One man walked confidently down the street, dressed in clothing that had no holes. Everyone around looked up and flocked around him. I watched as he stretched out a closed fist. He opened it and revealed, for only a second, a tiny white capsule. People started shouting and shoving their goods in his face. I did not understand what the big deal was. I had no idea what the capsule even was.

“What’s going on?” I asked the woman next to me. She gave me a look that was combined shock and disgust and then turned away from me. I saw someone jump up and try to take the capsule from the well-dressed man’s hand. The man took his other hand and wrapped it around the person’s neck. I gaped as the person turned from red to purple, before draining of color all together. I turned around and ran out of the market.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

            I wrapped my hand around the door knob and considered running from the hectic press scene. I hated attending these things, but knew that I could not run from it. Paul had returned to the annoying people who were screaming at the world leaders.

            I looked back at the window next to me. Below the missing window was a dusting of powder and tiny pieces of glass. I saw a red glint from behind a sheet of metal. I peeled the metal back and it fell to the floor. The red was from a ring of stained glass that used to circle the middle of the dome. All that remained of the stained glass was this tiny red chip. Everything else had been scavenged. I took that piece of glass and put it into my pocket, saving this last bit of beauty.

            I looked at the one world leader who had made the announcement. This was Martin Desmin. He was only in his forties, but his hair was almost entirely gray. I remembered the last time I had seen him. He had not looked nearly as old as he did now. I was under the impression that he was completely apathetic to what was going on. He glanced behind him for only a split second, but it was enough for me to see the look of surprise pass over his face. A tiny smile passed over his lips, but I refused to return it. I motioned Paul over and whispered a question for him to ask.

            “Um, Sir? Are there any negative problems that go along with Desminium?” The dignitaries exchanged a chuckle before responding.

            “Of course. There are negatives to everything. But I believe that the positives will vastly outweigh them,” Desmin said with a smile. Paul, however, was not done.

            “What about the rumors that Desminium has a waste product which has a higher radiation than a nuclear bomb?” All of the press glanced at Paul and then at the dignitaries. The dignitaries exchanged worried glances. No one knew about this information.

            “Well, you know the rumor mill. I wouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

            “So you deny it? Or do you think it is not a viable threat what with all of the fights and near to wars over energy these days?” Desmin pursed his lips and glanced back at me. I refused to meet his eye and crossed my arms over his chest.

            “No, it is true. But as long as the waste stays contained and in the right hands, it should not be a problem. Besides, think of all the jobs that will made in the process of refining and creating energy with Desminium. I think you will all agree that what we need now are jobs.” Some of the press murmured in agreement but most were too busy writing on leather notepads.

            “What will be done to deal with this waste?” one of the reporters called out, which was followed by shouts of others.

            “We will not be taking any more questions,” Desmin tried to silence them. He stepped away from his seat and the rest of the dignitaries stood. The press swarmed and tried to get more comments. I stepped away from the door and Desmin came up to me.

            “Hello Anna,” he said sharply. I grimaced and looked up at him.

            “Hi Dad.”