The Bottom Shelf Review

How can you long for a life you have never known? That’s the thought that crosses my mind when my acquaintance, Kiki asks me if I will be applying to serve as a guard for the President in the Upperworld for the millionth time. I’m currently fifteen feet in the air trying to fix a streetlight, and I sigh, holding out my hand for her to pass me another tool. “I tell you no every year and you’re still persistent as always.” She purses her lips and hands me a screwdriver “Come on, you’re twenty now! It’s about time.” Her pleads fall on deaf ears. If I had wanted to apply, I would have done it years ago when I turned fourteen. That’s the age when you are permitted to apply, but if you don’t get selected from the waiting list by the time you are twenty-five, you’ll never be able to go to the Upperworld. “You think I’ll make it in five years? Come on Kiki be realistic, it’s too late for me.” Although my answer is still no, I can’t help but admire her strong will. I finish fixing the lamp and hop down from the ladder.

Many people dream of going to the Upperworld because they hear it is beautiful, unlike the dark, filthy Underworld that we live in. The further you get from the central city where the elevator is, the scarcer the population and the more overgrown it becomes. If it weren’t for the restrictions, nearly everyone would try to abandon this place. This is why the Government put the guard service in place with such a miniscule age requirement. Although, it’s a well-known fact that people from the Underworld don’t typically live past the age of fifty, so I suppose that much makes sense. Even with The Guard taking people up every year, the list to be one of those people is incredibly long, and the training is harsh to say the least. Needless to say, the gloomy Underworld is all I have ever known. Down here, no pictures of the Upperworld exist, people just believe the rumors that it is far more beautiful and peaceful than the life down here, and that the people there live luxurious, carefree lives. However, I am not so foolish. I am perfectly content to live down here. For all I know, life above could be ten times worse than life down here. So, like last year and all the years before, I will not apply for The Guard.

I trudge home down the streets I know like the back of my hand, the neon lights illuminating my face in rainbow hues as the bustling open market serenades me from all around. Hoverbikes whiz past me and automatons hold up blinking signs advertising their wares. Even though I wear a mask to filter out the polluted air of the Underworld, if I inhale deeply enough, I can smell the delicious fragrances of the street food being sold at various market stalls. The familiarity of each of these things brings me a sense of ease as I make my way down the winding streets.

Eventually, I make it past the hustle and bustle of the market and past a “no trespassing” sign and come to a stop at a tall building no more broken down than the rest of them. I climb a metal pipe on the side of it with careful precision, and leap onto a balcony at the top. The entire building had been abandoned when I found it, so I renovated the top floor and made it my home. By being on the top floor, the local task force is less likely to find me, and I can make a quick escape if I need to. I scan my ID tag on the doors, and they slide open with a whoosh. They are quick to close behind me to not let the toxic air in, and I slip my heavy mask off and toss the metal ID tag on the table. In the silver reflection, I see a grimy face with a perpetually weary expression plastered on it, much like everyone else in the Underworld. The engraving on the metallic surface glares back at me. AV1003. That’s my name. Everyone down here has one, but most people pick a different name for themselves to feel a sense of control or rebellion I suppose. For example, Kiki is KI9021. Thinking back, I still remember our conversation from all those years ago. “Why Kiki? Does it mean something?” She looks at me silently for a moment before responding, as if she’s trying to come up with a creative answer but can’t. “I don’t know I just thought it sounded cute. What about you? Don’t you want a real name for yourself?” I quickly shake my head. “No. AV1003 is fine.” “But-” I cut her off. “If my parents had wanted me to have a different name, they would’ve given me one.” She looks as if she wants to protest but shuts her mouth and doesn’t push the topic further.

I look out to the horizon past the dilapidated skyscrapers to where the elevator to the Upperworld lay. It was gargantuan, built large enough to hold 50 people at the very least. Every year, I had watched it take up a new group of Underworlders to join the guard. The only time this despicable place saw sunlight was those few fleeting moments when the metal plates slid open to allow the elevator to pass through to the above. Each time, it had burned my eyes like a neon sign that had once gone up in flames when I had tried to repair it. Why would I want to go to a place like that? How can an Underworlder even survive up there? “Listen AV, don’t trust what the government says, who knows what they do to people like us when those doors close? Heck, no one who has ever left here has returned even though they say we’re allowed to after we fulfill our four years of service!” Thats what the one of Uncles at the bar had told me when I had turned 14. It stuck with me ever since. Of course, I too had once longed for a blissful life in the Upperworld like everyone else, but I had no parents to tell me what to do, so I chose to stay here and be content with my life, no matter how short it may be. I fix things for people, and I’m good at it too. Whether it be vehicles, appliances, automatons, or even cybernetic body parts that so many Underworlders had. That is my purpose. Not to leave for a world I know nothing about, where my survival is so uncertain. Unlike so many others, I refuse to abandon my home. Once again, I will watch that elevator come and go in a flash of brilliant light before my eyes.

Yet still, the question I cannot seem to fathom surfaces at the back of my mind. How can you long for a life you have never known?