The Last Bumblebee

Forced to live in the consequences of pollution and disease, a family struggles to make the best of a new society.

I hadn't decided by the time I got to school that morning, whether it would be a good day or a bad day. Usually one can tell moments within waking if the holes above us were agitated the night before. A sort of smokey rotten smells fills your nose, the air seems thicker and harder to move through. But today the only aroma was that of usual dense clouds that hung so low to the ground you'd think the we were fish staring up at ships anchored to the docks. Even as I climbed quietly as possible down loose metal staircase, I could hear echos of the hacking coughs of the sickly ones sleeping, or trying to at least, within the papery walls. Although I was always a little bit drowned out by the constant background noise of our radio, which played incessantly like it did in most complexes. Mother said when she was a child she lived in a farmhouse, although that's not what she called it, she said they were suburbs; houses spaced out all facing a street. these weren't anything close to the houses we lived in now, so crammed together like sardines, but mother always laughed when I asked how many cows or chickens she used to keep.

All the kids from our block traveled to school together, although little was usually said so soon after rising from fitful sleeps. Our class was a collection of forty five students of slightly varying ages from 14 to 18 with only one teacher, so the day could usually slide by without having to speak a word. Today was building off past lessons, the basic studying; soil erosion, oxygen compounds, ozone layers, etc.. Along with side lessons of mathematics, basic history, and reading/writing. Ms. Joy taught us from 6 a.m. to noon, and her name was perhaps a perfect antonym for her personality. Although she does seem quite joyful rapping a meter stick against the chalkboard to rose any drowsy pupils. I enjoyed a warm walk home being able to finally stretch my legs again as we only possessed a few small breaks throughout the school day. We became rowdier as we traveled together in our small pack, excited for the midday meal that wait for us in the complex. Lunch usually promised the tastiest of served food, perhaps to hype us up for an afternoon and evening of service. We all ate within our private homes, retrieving packed lunches from the community ice box and retreating to our own tables to eat in solitude. Our parents would be waiting for us in our minuscule kitchens, probably having already started chewin but would stop for second to glance in your direction.i set my own food down on the table,Mine was thin slices of roast beef between two slices of wheat bread, chilled from the ice and the meat covered with a slice of lettuce like a blanket. A shallow plastic glass of milk accompanied the dinning and I had to slide the curtains back for natural light, as allotted hours of power had already expired by 12. As i took a satisfying crunch into the lettuce of my sandwich I watched the dust settle on our table like the snow I knew as a child. A mere half an hour passed before we children, This time with the adults of our complex,had set out, though all in separate directions now with different destinations in mind. You see, beginning at one o’clock each day we all had duties to fulfill, job assignments were given as early as ten years old and held from there on, although switching between services was technically not allowed we were relatively relaxed in the west. I had a particularly unpleasant job, despite the fact that I did get to work on the beach which sometimes had the free time to admire how the chilling blues of the sea and sky met in a silver horizon line.

Aquatic animals had more than most to worry about these days, their homes were so polluted and garbage filled some were given the mercy of dying early in the waste, while others suffocated slowly on the gases and trash. But whichever way the went, they always ended up in the same place; a sandy burial to a watery death. We call it “service” it's basically volunteer work. Most people these days don't have actual jobs, their time is spent is regenerating the Earth with the rest of us. There are worse jobs than mine in the service and there are easier. Some get to plant trees deep in the forest, some learn field science like testing water acidity and soil fertility, others get clean up duty; like shoveling ash and sludge from tree lines and fields, cleaning the layer of grime from the lakes, and mostly collecting the ever growing piles of trash that always seem to appear. Mine is a clean up job. Whatever washes up on the beach, becomes the task of the day. And on this dreary washed out day the color of dishwater, all we did was scoop out the clumps of oil that ran on the sand.

By ten o'clock the beaches were clean, or as close they would come as the grains were stained an ashy gray. We trudged home, wet and tired. But back at the complex things were much louder than usual. A military green keep was parked, lights still blaring, and an official looking man overlooking the scene. Those who had returned from service already stood stilly outside watching it unfold. Two small families were being

Author's Note

Eventually the plot will follow the lead as she discovers the last known bumblebee and fights to save it.