It seems ironically unfitting that our world is perpetually bathed in sunlight. It would be far more appropriate if it were draped and never-ending shadows – a foreboding darkness, like the color of death and suffering. The Earth, having shifted dangerously close to the sun a decade ago, is now forever engulfed in a relentless blaze. Darkness only graces us for a mere six hours each day, an endless reminder of the hell we are forced to endure. I’ve been working for two years now, since I was 14. At that age, I was pulled from the safety of homeschooling—a luxury that had promptly began when public schools shut down under the unrelenting heat. Now, every day, I wake up to the same oppressive brightness, knowing I’ll be toiling away for 18 hours straight. Our homes are enormous glass bubbles, each family confined within their own transparent prison. I remember my first day on the job, stepping outside into the blistering heat, the sun hammering down like a scorching whip. I was assigned to manage solar panels—a cruel irony, considering the very source of our misery is also the source of our labor. “Another day, another shift,” my supervisor barked, his voice hoarse from the dry air. His skin was dark and cracked from years in the sun. ‘’ if it gets too hot, use the spray bottles! Or you’ll end up like that guy, ‘’ he mused with a chuckle, pointing to a man being dragged off by the guards. The man kicked and screamed, violently clawing at his own face as they pulled him away. I later learned that he had gone crazy due to the constant heat and sleep deprivation. I nodded, my hands trembling as I adjusted the panels, sweat pouring down my face. I could barely see through the haze of the heat, but the site of that poor old man gave me nightmares for months. Sadly, I’ve grown accustomed to it now. no one seems to notice anymore when things like that happen. In the glass bubble where I live, the air is always stifling. My family and I barely speak anymore; words seem to evaporate as quickly as we can form them. The oppressive heat and long hours have a way of wearing down even the closest of relationships. One evening, as we gathered for a brief moment of respite — a rare luxury, considering most times spent in the bubble is spent sleeping or shoving food down our throats like wild animals — my mother’s voice trembled as she spoke, “I’ve heard stories about where people go when they’re deemed unworthy. No one comes back, and the government doesn’t talk about it. It’s like they disappear into thin air.” Her cerulean, blue eyes, once bright and vibrant, seemed to sync deep into her skull as she trembled. “You know I’m getting older. I’m not as healthy as I used to be…’’ “Stop,” I demanded, choking back a sob.“Don’t talk like that. It’s too dangerous.” But even as I said it, that ever present voice of dread was there to whisper in my ear. Always there. Always whispering. I knew that if one of us were to become injured or fall behind, we’d be sent away, just like the others. The fear of breaking a bone or succumbing to heat stroke is as constant as the sun. No one who faces these fates ever returns. People around us, like the poor old man, have lost their minds, cracked under the pressure. Some have died from heat strokes or from the unending sleep deprivation. The government has no patience for those deemed ‘’worthless to society’’. If you falter, you are quickly forgotten. Finally, as the sun creeps stubbornly towards the horizon, I watch as it casts its shadows over the worksite. Oh, how I wish I could appreciate the shadows. But I know that the brief respite of twilight is always followed by the return of the harsh light, driving us back into our ceaseless labor. In this world, the only darkness we truly know is the looming shadow of despair.