My eyelids felt heavy, begging for more sleep. The alarm clock rang at seven o’clock in the morning. It was time to wake up. I wobbled my way to the bathroom and got ready. A robotic arm holding a toothbrush made its way to my teeth. Another arm, hanging from the ceiling, started to comb my hair. I made my way to the shower with both metallic arms following me. Seven-fifteen, I was clean and dry, and I made my way to my dressing room. I walked over to the screen and decided which clothes I wanted to wear. I stepped into the cubicle and ten seconds later I was dressed in the chosen garments.

Seven-twenty rang the clock once I stepped inside the kitchen. Robotic arms, which I eventually decided to name scheming limbs, were preparing my breakfast. A small drone holding a newspaper flew into the room, handing me the print.

At seven-forty, I finished my breakfast and read the news. Whilst making my way to the front door, two metallic arms were following me, putting on my jacket and handing me my purse.

Seven forty-five, I was outside, and the sun was shining.

I started walking the familiar road, my heels hitting the same cobblestone every single day. The morning sunlight was welcomed by my pale skin, which made my mind start wandering elsewhere. I wondered how it would be to feel real sunlight on my skin again. Was it the same feeling as this artificial one that we became used to? Sadness came over me when I realised that I had indeed forgotten. It has been fifteen years since we were put in the Survival Arena. Yet even though I could not remember how the real sun felt like, I did remember the day I saw it for the last time.

Panic surrounded me, screams could be heard from every corner. I tried to find my parents and brother through all this chaos. We were put in lines, waiting for guards to prick our fingers, testing if we were affected by the virus. I winced when the needle met my skin, a drop of blood popping out. After another guard scanned my finger with a machine, a green ribbon was fastened around my arm. I was sent into a crowd in front of an enormous arena. On my right, there was another crowd which was separated from us by a transparent wall made out of glass. And that was when I saw my parents and brother. When our eyes met, my father pounded against the glass, hoping to reach me. Tears were running down my cheeks, as I yelled for my family. Fear could be seen in their eyes. Everyone was screaming; everyone was scared; everyone was lost and oblivious to what was happening.

Then I saw the red ribbon around my parents’ and brother’s arms. Everyone from their group was wearing one. And then it all happened so fast. My group was pushed through a gate of the arena and I barely had time to say goodbye to my parents. I saw on their lips how they were screaming my name before I was swallowed by the crowd, and I never saw them again. Once everyone who had a green ribbon was shoved inside, the doors closed behind us. Everyone was screaming from the top of their lungs, panic visible in their eyes.

‘Attention. Attention.’

A calm female voice could be heard through the speakers. The screams were slowly quieting down.

‘Welcome to the Survival Arena. The virus has overpowered us. The sun is dying, which affected our trees – affected humankind. The government has therefore created this arena, hoping to save humankind from extinction. You will henceforth live here for the rest of your lives. You will be attributed a house and a profession.’

Long pause.

‘To have order and the perfect normal yet disciplined life in this arena, rules have been established which will be shared with you momentarily. People affected by the disease have been marked in red and will be sent elsewhere in order to avoid any more outbreaks. We understand your confusion, but we only wish to help you in every possible way. We hope to assure a flawless life for the population.’

Another pause.

‘We created this arena in hopes to regain our lives again. The government will be there for you through these rough and scary times. We only wish the best for our planet and our kind. Thank you for your attention, and may you live a healthy and ideal life.’

Screams from behind the doors could be heard, and then silence. And that was when I understood that I would remain alone.

Seven fifty-eight, I arrived at work. Eight o’clock, I sat at my desk. A robotic arm placed a cup of tea next to me. I did my tasks, reading scientific research, signing paper after paper. Twelve o’clock, lunchtime. Everyone made their way to the canteen where we were served by more robots. One o’clock, everyone was sitting at their working desk again. Three o’clock, fifteen-minute break. Three-fifteen, back to work, analysing the progress of some scientific studies and signing paper after paper.

‘It is five o’clock. Please make your way home,’ sang the clock.

Everyone got up quickly, as there was a curfew at five-twenty. Every single person needs to be at home. So are the rules. Otherwise, there would be consequences.

On the first day of being here in the Survival Arena, we received a list of restrictions. There were health rules such as having to drink two litres of water every day. Then there were also emotional rules where we are not allowed to show annoyance or anger. We must remain happy at all times. Then there were discipline rules. Be home at five-twenty. This would teach you how to be responsible for yourself. At first, we did not understand what was meant by that. But then, on one day, a man was curious and stayed outside past five-twenty. We saw through our windows how a fog started to appear around our houses. And once it touched that man, he started screaming as the thick cloud burned him to death.

All the government really wanted was for us to be safe and live the ideal life that we could not live outside these walls by respecting these rules.

Five-fifteen, I was home. I changed clothes and told the screen what I wanted to eat. The scheming limbs cooked. Seven o’clock, I had dinner. Seven-thirty, I read a book. Nine o’clock, I got ready for bed. Nine-thirty, I fell asleep.

The alarm rang at seven o’clock in the morning. Physically fit, mentally exhausted. I entered the bathroom and was greeted by both metallic arms with my toothbrush and hairbrush. I went into the shower, got dressed. I finished breakfast at seven-forty. Seven forty-five, I was outside. A beautiful sun shining in the sky. Seven fifty-eight, I entered the building. Eight, I sat at my desk. It was an unavoidable routine. A vicious circle.

It had been days since I last talked to someone. Everyone was always focused on their work, focused on the time. People in the Survival Arena got used to this routine. It was expected of us, and thus we adapted ourselves to this new environment and its rules.

I had no friends, no family. I had no partner with whom I could share my house, my bed, my scheming limbs. I had no one to talk to. I was alone. Alone in this perfect ideal arena. Some were lucky enough to have met a lover at work;  however, I was not. Or perhaps I could consider myself lucky? The government specified that once we chose to share our lives and house with one person, it should be for a lifetime. Divorce or separation was no longer tolerated in our community. It was either we chose to live with someone and hope that they were the right person, or stay alone and not risk feeling even more trapped than we already were.

Twelve o’clock, I had a silent and lonely lunch, which was cooked and served by robots. I looked around myself. Was this really how it was supposed to be? Some of my co-workers were talking to each other, others were quiet like me. Was this really the perfect place for us? Somehow, I could not stop thinking about how we were just existing in this world, yet not living in it. At least, we were alive and healthy.

One o’clock, I started working again. Same old boring routine. Three o’clock, break. And then back to analysing the progress of some scientific studies and signing paper after paper.

‘It is five o’clock. Please make your way home,’ sang the clock.

I stayed seated and watched how everyone stood up and quickly made their way to the exit. They all walked past me as if I were invisible. Five-past-five, the building was completely empty with only me sitting at my desk and staring at my now black screen. Ten-past-five, I decided to stand up and make my way to the exit as well. Only ten minutes left. Would I make it home on time? Did I want to make it?

I walked at a normal pace, whereas other people were running past me, hoping to enter through their front door on time. Five fifteen, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the rapid beat drumming in my ears. Only five minutes left. What was I doing? What was I thinking?

Realising what was happening, I started running. I was alone in the streets, as everyone was already home. Safe. Five sixteen, I turned around the corner. Five seventeen, my calves started to burn, my feet flying over the stones. How could I have been so careless? Five eighteen, I was already covered in sweat, drops rolling down my face. The government only wished to save and help us. Five nineteen, I turned again and from the corners of my eyes, I could see a blurry fog starting to slowly catch up to me. I almost made it. I could see my house now, waiting for me to open the door. I could-

Five twenty, I did not make it.

Bibliography:

Bradbury, Ray, ‘There Will Come Soft Rains’, in The Martian chronicles, (London: Harper Voyager, 2001), pp. 93-95