Writer In Motion Forum

   Rayne climbs one rung at a time into the endless blue nothing.
Beneath her, the colony shrinks to a small, perfectly organized grid. The sweat from her palms makes the metal slick; her arms shake with fatigue.
   She's been stuck in bed the last three days, with a rattling cough and drenched in cold sweat. All Rayne wants to do is sleep; the warm embrace of her bed calls out to her from a thousand feet below. But her grandmother's voice is louder.
   You're a Painter, Rayne. They need you.
   A normal colonist has every reason to believe her job is pointless, a futile attempt to maintain some kind of normalcy. God knows she feels that way more often than not. Most people never look up. They don't have a reason to. But Painters know better.
   The daytime sky has been empty for days, and people have begun to notice. Even if they don't realize it, they notice. Rayne heard the shouts through her bedroom window. A current of restless energy permeates the colony, and it is nearly at a breaking point.
   Rayne stops to catch her breath, threading her arms through the rungs to keep herself from plummeting down. The cold metal stings her bare skin. Sweat-drenched hair sticks to the side of her face, but she doesn't dare reach to move it.
   She isn't made for this, not like her grandmother was. Every day for forty years she made this climb, painting stories in the sky for people who couldn't care less. At least she was good at it, unlike Rayne who doesn't have an artistic bone in her aching body.
   Her grandmother's clouds told stories, myths she'd heard as a girl, legends she'd been a part of creating. If she could have kept painting forever, she would have.
   Then she was gone, and Rayne was the only one who could follow in her footsteps. The only one she told the story to. What happened the last time there wasn't a Painter to cover the empty sky. Only Painters get to know. Only Painters need to carry that burden.
   She hears the story now in her grandmother's voice, as though she was there, pushing her forward.
   Before I was born, the world was on its dying breaths. Families fled to artificial safety. Some below the surface, some left the Earth completely. The Founders decided they wanted to stay above, to be the first to reclaim the dead planet.
   The Founders designed the colony to be perfect - perfect architecture, perfect temperature, perfect trees in perfect parks. There's even a program in place to keep the interior of the dome in sync with the time outside: bright and blue in the day, dark and black at night. But no one had thought of the sky.
   And now, it can't be changed. The program will run undisturbed for another three hundred and sixteen years, until Earth can reclaim itself.
   Rayne doubts that time will ever actually come. She never told her grandmother that, but she has a feeling they shared the sentiment. An artificial breeze from a hidden vent in the side of the dome blows through her, sending a shiver down her spine. Rayne takes a breath and braces herself, focusing in on the echo of her grandmother's story.
   But something was wrong.
   People grew anxious and angry. They fought behind closed doors, until the bloodshed spilled out into the streets. The prison, designed to fit less than a hundred of us, was filled by the end of the first month. No one knew what was happening. The Founders held a meeting. They tried drastic measures, dealing out higher punishments for lesser crimes. Drones circled the dome like vultures.
   Then, and only then, did someone decide to look up.
   Rayne looks above her as she climbs the final stretch. She sees what they did. An endless blue nothing. No sun, no clouds. At night, no moon, nor stars. It was artificial. It was unnatural.
   It drove everyone stir crazy.
   Just like it is now.
   Rayne hauls herself into the camouflaged pod tucked against the wall of the dome. No one is watching her ascent and she simply vanishes, disappearing into the vast blue nothingness.
   She lies on the floor of the pod, taking deep shuddering breaths, thanking every deity she can name that she made it..
   Embedded in the wall of the pod is a telescreen. It's meant to look like a window, but it's attached to a camera feed on the exterior of the dome. Real windows to the outside can't survive the winds.
   It's there to inspire her work, but there's nothing particularly inspiring about a barren, unchanging, landscape. No trees or buildings; they'd all been razed by storms or bombs. An omnipresent grey blanket hangs in the sky, the real sky. It only acts as a blunt reminder of how artificial her life truly is.
   Rayne turns her back to the screen and sits on the floor of the pod. A deep, rattling cough doubles her over. Every inch of her body begs her to go back to sleep. But she doesn't dare.
   Taking the Brush in her hands, Rayne stands at the opening of the pod, trying to make the clouds match the story in her head. Vapor pours from the end of the Brush into the open sky. She isn't nearly as good as her grandmother, but she does her best. The clouds don't have to be good, they just have to be there.
   After all, people almost never look up.
   

   Rayne climbed the ladder one rung at a time into the endless blue nothing.
   Normally the night crew would still be there, plucking each star out of the sky as the lights in the dome grew brighter and brighter, with no apparent source.
   Beneath her, the colony shrunk to a small, featureless grid. Rayne used to wonder what she looked like to them. Now she knows most people never look up.
   Though the Painters know better, a normal colonist might assume her job would be pointless, a futile attempt to maintain some kind of normalcy. God knows she felt that way more often than not. Especially on days like today.
   She'd been stuck in bed for the last three days, with a rattling cough and drenched in cold sweat. All Rayne wanted to do was sleep; the warm embrace of her bed called out to her from a thousand feet below. But she had a responsibility to everyone in the colony. The daytime sky had been empty for days, and people had begun to notice. Even if they didn't realize it, they noticed. A current of restless energy had permeated the colony, and it was nearly at a breaking point.
   Rayne hauled herself into the camouflaged pod tucked against the wall of the dome. To anyone paying attention on the ground, she would have simply vanished into the vast blue nothingness.
   The pod was cozy; she'd been allowed to put some personal touches up there. A grey cot was propped up against the wall, tucked between a small bookcase and a drawer where she kept some personal painting supplies. It was a bitch to get it all up there, but with the help of a couple drones things had worked out.
   A screen was embedded in the wall. It was meant to look like a window, but Rayne knew better. Windows to the outside wouldn't survive.
   They'd put it there to give her inspiration but there was never anything particularly inspiring about what she saw. In part, because it was always the same, and it was a blunt reminder of how artificial her life truly was.
   An empty grey landscape sat motionless on the screen, tinted the faintest rust. No trees or buildings to show the hurricane winds that constantly barraged the outside world. They'd all been razed by one thing or another.
   Rayne turned her back to the screen and sat on the floor of the pod. A deep, rattling cough doubled her over. Every inch of her body begged her to climb back down, to go back to sleep. But she didn't dare.
Though looking up was a pastime only retained by the elders of the colony, everyone had heard stories of what happened the last time there wasn't a Painter working the daytime sky, even if they didn't know the cause.
   It was before she was born, back in the early days of the colony. The world was on its dying breaths as clusters fled to artificial safety. Some below the surface, some left the Earth completely. The Founders had decided they wanted to stay above, to be the first to reclaim the Earth, if the time ever came for it. Rayne doubted that time would ever come.
   They'd designed every aspect of the colony to mirror life outside. On the ground, it was nearly impossible to tell the two apart.
   But something was off.
   People grew anxious and angry. They fought behind closed doors, until the conflict spilled out into the streets. The prison, designed to fit less than a hundred of the five thousand colonists, was filled by the end of the first month. No one understood what was happening. The council held a meeting. They tried new policing initiatives, dealt out higher punishments for lesser crimes. Cameras were put on 24/7 surveillance, and drones circled the dome like vultures.
   Then, and only then, someone decided to look up.
   Above them, they realized, was an endless blue nothing. No sun, no clouds. At night, no moon, nor stars. It was artificial. It was unnatural. It drove everyone stir crazy.
   They'd designed everything to be perfect, the architecture, the city planning; they even had fake trees in fake parks, but no one had thought of the sky. The program was set to be blue and bright in the day, dark and black at night. Beyond that, the Founders thought, there was nothing more that needed to be done. And, it couldn't be changed. The program was set to run undisturbed for seven hundred and sixteen years, the amount of time the Founders calculated the Earth would take to reclaim itself. So whatever needed to be done, it had to be done by hand.
   Teams were assigned to scour atlases and star charts, studying them as though their lives depended on it, because they did. Rayne's grandmother was the only Painter on the day team, the only one willing to face the heights while the lights were still on. She climbed the same ladder as Rayne every day for nearly forty years, forming the clouds in the sky like God. No two were ever the same.
   She made stories in the clouds to keep herself sane, scenes out of vapor that would swirl until the circulation reclaimed the moisture for use the next day.
   It never rained. The council considered that a waste. So every day was sunny, or slightly overcast. But every day told a story. She taught Rayne how to do it, much to her father's distress. Slowly, her grandmother stopped climbing the ladder, joining Rayne once a week, once a month, until she never climbed again.
   Now it was Rayne's responsibility. And she'd be damned if she let a cold get in the way. They all would be.
   Despite her father's protests, she'd snuck out of the house after he went to work. It would be fine. Worst came to worst he would notice the clouds and give a concerned speech when he got home. But more likely than not, he wouldn't.
   People almost never look up.   

   Rayne climbed the ladder one rung at a time into the endless blue nothing. She was late. Normally the night crew would still be there, plucking each star out of the sky as the lights in the dome grew brighter and brighter, with no apparent source.
   Beneath her, the colony condensed into a small, featureless grid. Rayne used to wonder what she looked like to them, until she realized that most people never look up. One could assume that her job would be pointless then, a futile attempt to maintain some kind of normalcy. God knows she felt that way more often than not. Especially on days like today. All Rayne wanted to do was to sleep in, the warm cocoon of her bed calling out to her, even from a thousand feet below.
   Rayne hauled herself into the camouflaged pod tucked against the wall of the dome. To anyone paying attention on the ground, she would have simply vanished into the vast blue nothingness.
   The pod was cozy, she?d been allowed to make herself a little nest up there. A grey cot was propped up against the wall, tucked between a small bookcase and a drawer where she kept some personal painting supplies. It was a bitch to get all of that up here, but with the help of a couple drones things had worked out. A screen was embedded in the wall. It was meant to look like a window, but Rayne knew better. Windows to the outside wouldn?t survive.
   They?d put it there to give her inspiration but there was never anything particularly inspiring about what she saw. Partially because it was always the same, partially because it was a blunt reminder of how artificial every aspect of her life truly was. Of all of their lives.
   A grey landscape sat motionless on the screen, tinted with faintest rust color. The featureless landscape stretched out for miles. There were no trees or buildings to show the hurricane level winds that constantly barraged the outside world. They?d all been razed by one thing or another.
   Rayne turned her back to the screen and sat on the floor of the pod. A deep, rattling cough nearly doubled her over. Every inch of her body was begging her to climb back down, to go back to sleep. She was no good to anyone dead. But, she didn?t have the time for this. Even though looking up was a pastime only still held by the elders of the colony, she?d heard stories of the last time a painter had shirked their responsibility.
   It was before she was born, back in the early days of the colony. The world was on its dying breaths as clusters fled to artificial safety. Some below the ground, some left the ground completely. The Founders had decided they wanted to stay on the surface, to be the first to reclaim the Earth, if the time ever came for it. Rayne had doubts that time would ever come.
   They?d designed every aspect of the colony to mirror the life they had outside. On the ground, it was nearly impossible to tell the two apart, from what Rayne had heard in stories at least.
   But something was off.
   People grew anxious and angry. They fought behind closed doors, until the conflict started spilling out into the streets. The prison, designed to fit less than a hundred of the five thousand person colony, was filled by the end of the first month. No one understood what was happening. The council held a meeting. They tried new policing initiatives, dealt out higher punishments for lesser crimes. Cameras were put on 24/7 surveillance, and drones circled the skies like vultures.
   Then, and only then, someone decided to look up.
   Above them, they realized, was an endless blue nothing. No sun, no clouds. At night, no moon, nor stars. It was artificial. It was unnatural. It was driving everyone stir crazy.
   They?d designed everything to be perfect, the architecture, the city planning, they even had fake trees in fake parks, but no one had thought of the sky. The program was set to be blue and bright in the day, dark and black at night. Beyond that, the founders thought, there was nothing more that needed to be done. And, it couldn?t be changed. The program was set to run undisturbed for seven hundred and sixteen years, the amount of time the founders thought it would take for the Earth to reclaim itself. So whatever needed to be done to fix this, it had to be done by hand.
   A small team was assigned to search through atlases and starcharts. They studied them as though their lives depended on them, which they very well might have. Rayne?s grandmother was the only one on the day committee, the only one willing to face the heights while the lights were still on. She climbed the same ladder as Rayne had every day for nearly forty years, forming the clouds in the sky like God. No two were ever the same. She made stories in the clouds, scenes out of vapor that would swirl until the circulation reclaimed the moisture for use the next day.
   It never rained. The council considered that a waste. So every day was sunny, or slightly overcast. But every day told a story. She taught Rayne how to do it, much to her father?s distress. Slowly, her grandmother stopped climbing the ladder, joining Rayne once a week, once a month, until she never climbed the ladder again.
   Now it was Rayne?s turn. And she?d been stuck in bed for the last three days, with a rattling cough and drenched in cold sweat. The daytime sky had been empty for days, and people had begun to notice. Even if they didn?t realize it, they noticed. A current of restless energy had pervaded the colony, and it was nearly at a breaking point.
   Despite her father?s protests, she?d snuck out of the house after he went to work. It would be fine. Worst came to worst he would notice and give a concerned speech when he got home. But more likely than not, he wouldn?t notice.
   People almost never look up.