Synaptic

My Short Story Writing class had so many talented fiction writers, I had a hard time selecting a favorite story. Since we workshop all stories and everyone in the class reads and comments on each one to make it the best it can be, I asked the students to suggest which story I should submit. Many stories were nominated, but The Edge received the most nominations. And I can see why. It has honest emotion, vivid descriptions, and is a metaphor for our times.

-Cathy Haustein

---

I’m shocked awake. The siren blares with its high-pitched morning scream. Red lights at the corners of our small apartment whir, casting bloodstained splotches on the bare white walls. I groan. The nights are never long enough. I am on refuse duty today. One of my least favorite jobs. I nudge Bernie, who’s still asleep next to me. She can sleep through anything — even earthquakes and the air contamination alarm, which was literally designed to nearly pierce our eardrums. Her nose twitches. That’s a good sign. I grab her shoulders and rock her whole body back and forth. Her nose twitches again. She must have been restless last night; her light brown hair is strewn across her face and even looks matted in some parts. This kind of sleep cannot be an evolutionary advantage. It’s like Bernie dies every night and I have to breathe life back into her. Wide green eyes start to flutter. Thank God, maybe today we would be on time to work.

“It’s refuse day Bernie, your favorite,” I sing-song. I know that annoyance is the best way to wake her up. Rage is certainly a motivator.

“Shuddup ‘mber.” She rolls away from me, a line of displeasure forming between her eyebrows.

“Oh, c’mon Bernie, all that beautiful refuse is just waiting for you. Can’t you smell it?” I shove my face into the back of her neck and inhale obnoxiously. Her body shakes a bit. Laughter is also a motivator.

I wonder if I’ll have to resort to tickling her sides, something she truly hates, but she rolls back towards me, shoving her hair out of her eyes. She smiles.

“Let’s get that garbage,” she says with a poke to my side.

“Hey! That hurt!” I say, mocking a grievous wound and flopping back down on the bed.

“You’re so dramatic, Ember,” she says as her feet tumble out of bed. She stretches like a cat, arms fully extended, spine arched, and yawns prodigiously. She shivers and rubs her hands up and down her arms. Then, Bernie zombie-walks to the stove. Coffee is another motivator.

I could tell you Bernie’s morning routine backwards and frontwards. After we moved in together, I watched her like a hawk, almost creepily, worried that she’d suddenly realize that I wasn’t worth her time and that she’d leave. So, I tried to memorize as much as I could about her. I needed to have memories, not only of the big things, but of the random Thursday when she laughs at my stupid joke and tilts her head back in the white afternoon sunlight. Bernie’s morning routine is a bright spot on a gloomy day. Her shuffling, tired footsteps, her little idiosyncrasies, infiltrated the grooves in my brain. Like footprints on wet sand, she carved paths through my neurons because I wanted her to, I needed her to. So, I know her as well, or even better than I know myself.

I smile and follow her to the kitchen area. Our apartment is standard fare for middle class citizens. One main room with a small bathroom. Everything is clinical shades of grey, white, or black. Except for our touches of course. Bernie can’t live in a world without color. The pillows on our bed are outrageous shades of yellow, orange, and pink. The quilt that Bernie made, when she decided to take up another hobby, is almost vulgar in how bright and cheerful it is.

I stand at the sink, washing last night’s dishes, and look out our one window. It offers a panoramic view of our small outdoor space — it’s much nicer than most people expect for an apartment in standardized living. Our building’s “natural” area is very manicured. We have regulations on everything. Each blade of grass is purposeful and accounted for. Short shrubs line the space beneath our window, and if there was ever a breeze, they would sway in it. Trees are rare, but we have a Crusader Hawthorn that blooms white flowers in the spring. Not that the seasons matter to us anymore after the installation of the Veil, but the trees still seem to care. Their internal clocks still tick in the same way, keeping their natural rhythm. Winter, spring, summer, fall remain the same when you’re as stubborn as the Hawthorn tree. My hands are wet as I scrub the hours old food off of our tin dishware. The water from our faucet mimics the sound of rain on a metal roof.

In the distance, I can see the flickering of the Veil. It looks strong. We might have a good air quality day. That always makes refuse duty easier when we aren’t fighting so hard for air while bending down to collect our community’s massive amounts of trash. If I squint out our window, I see the oily shifting of the Edge. The Veil is a huge flexible dome that stretches across our sky and separates us from the toxic air Beyond. The Edge marks the most vulnerable parts of the Veil. It’s like a weak seam in a well-worn dress. One forceful tug and the whole thing will tear apart. I place the dishes on the counter, and Bernie joins me to dry. She puts her head on my shoulder and sighs.

“The Veil looks strong today. That’s good.”

“I know, maybe we’ll actually be able to breathe.”

“I wonder what’s out past it, you know. Nobody official has been out there for close to 50 years. Maybe things have changed.” I tense. Bernie knows this is a sore subject. I take a deep breath.

“I don’t really think we have to worry about that. Since everything out there is dead. We still struggle to breathe even from within the Veil. I doubt that anything has changed.”

“You just aren’t thinking big enough. I didn’t want to tell you, but I saw a bird yesterday.” A bird?

“What do you mean, ‘a bird’?”

“Exactly what I said, silly. I saw a bird flying outside of the Veil. It was a flash of white, but I saw its wings, its silhouette. It was definitely a bird.” I feel my jaw clench. I really don’t want to fight this morning. Bernie and I rarely fight, but when we do, it’s always about the Beyond. She knows as well as I do that going through the Edge, past the Veil, and into the Beyond is a death sentence.

Bernie dries the last dish and stumbles back to her coffee on the stove. Its bitter smell fills our small space. I take a breath. A bird. Flying past the Veil. That’s rich. The atmosphere out there is so poisonous, so deadly, that it corrodes your brain and corrupts your body. Bernie and I both learned about Beyond poisoning in school. Each year we’d have to sit through presentations and get educated on “Veil Safety.” The gist of these presentations was this: stay the hell away from the Edge, and you’ll be fine. Or, close to fine at least.

Beyond poisoning is complicated. First, the hallucinations begin. These are horrifying and nightmarish. Scientists predict that the neurological aspect of the poison triggers a fear response so intense that the afflicted witness their own death and the deaths of their loved ones repeatedly, until their brains turn to mush. Then, pustulous, painful boils form on the skin. It’s said that they reek of decomposition. The skin explodes with toxins; flesh is often seen torn from the bodies of those who cross the threshold. There are no animals in the Beyond, so these hideous scenes of mutilation are either self-inflicted, or a result of the massive and extremely fast swelling of the body. It takes four to six minutes to die from Beyond poisoning. However, the polluted mind can stretch time to unimaginable lengths, transforming minutes into years. Rangers claim some bodies seen beyond the Edge are aged drastically. The bodies of young women, spry and supple with hair of gold, auburn, or deep black, are found looking ancient. White hair streaming from their unmoving bodies. Young men, lithe and muscular, are found with sagging skin and hair of silver. The families of those who go past the Veil never see their loved ones again. Their bodies aren’t retrieved, as it is a certain death sentence. Rangers say that the Edge is lined with the bodies of those rash optimists who believe that the Veil is a hoax. They whisper about an Eden beyond the Veil. I know it’s a foolish fantasy.

But, there are a few, like Vali Cripps, who make their living off of poor, naive suckers who will believe any of the honey-sweet dribble that falls from their stinking mouths. Vali is nothing if not charismatic. His hard angular face is punctuated with a tattoo on his neck that reads: “rotten to the core.” He’s really classy, if you can’t tell. Even with that stupid personal motto scrawled across his neck, people still trust Vali. They feed off of his inane optimism. Forbidden fruit and all that, you know. If you dangle something like a Red Delicious in front of a starving person and say, “don’t eat this,” they’ll be gnawing it out of your hands before you can tell them “this one is actually poisonous.” The same goes with trapped people. If you offer them a way out, they’ll stampede. Even if it’s over a cliff.

Vali is especially popular with people that live closer to the Edge. Their air quality is so degraded that they actually have a much lower life expectancy. And a much higher infant mortality rate. Why they believe that the Eden past the Veil exists is unknown to me. But, I guess if I watched my baby gasp for air, its small lungs faltering under the strain of our polluted air, I would be feeling pretty desperate too.

I hate that Vali exploits the last hopes of otherwise hopeless people. I hate that he creates a space for dangerous levels of optimism. I hate that Bernie seems to like Vali’s spiels. She sees more beauty in the world than I do. Like imaginary birds, for instance. I didn’t respond about the bird after that. I didn’t want to fight. Not with my Bernie.

***

By 8:00 in the morning, Bernie and I are stumbling on the sidewalks in the stiff, neon yellow jumpsuits that mark us as refuse workers. I grab crumpled food wrappers with the pincher tool that the community center provides. My garbage bag drags on the ground. I’ll have to unload soon. We’re almost done with the main road, which was our biggest assignment today. The concrete sparkles behind us as we proceed through the square. Our limited space must remain clean, yet that doesn’t stop people from littering. I’ve seen people throw their garbage on the ground, only to pick it up the next day on refuse duty. It is a strange world.

“Hey! Ow, Vali! That hurts!” I hear a pincher snap together.

“C’mon have a little fun, Bernie. What do you think of this one?”

“Ew, that’s foul. Get it away from me!”

Vali laughs, a piercing, shrieking laugh as he pulls a plastic bag full of yellow, fishy-smelling juice away from Bernie’s face. His greasy, slicked back hair shines. Somehow, he looks tacky even though we are all wearing the same clothes. Bernie looks back at me, and mimes retching into her garbage bag.

We continue picking, until we get to the northmost point of the bubble. Vali is close to useless which is why working with him is such a pain. I’ve found that having a superiority complex makes it exceedingly difficult to pick up garbage. His ego is already so heavy, he struggles to add any more weight to his sleazy form.

Finally, it’s our lunch break. Bernie gets done before me, so I wait in the lunch line by myself. Looks like some sort of bean soup today. I lost Bernie in the crowd, it’s so easy to do when we’re all dressed the same, and then I see her. Laughing. With Vali Cripps. Touching his arm. Head thrown back.

I feel a spike of jealousy, but even more than that, fear. We are quite close to the Edge by now. Bernie and Vali turn away from me, I crane my head to see where they are headed, but they disappear down the hill, food in hand, talking like old friends. I get my soup, so excited for the bean mush and stale bread, and nervously head in their direction. They’re sitting cross-legged at the base of the hill. The Edge is about a mile away. Its oily sheen shifts and moves hypnotically in the midday sun. They’re too close. I balance my soup — if you can even call it that — in my hand, and carefully descend in my community-issued white tennis shoes. The grass is all one hideous color. Like it’s been spray-painted the cheapest, most heinous shade of green.

I get close to them, their backs turned to me, both of them staring at the Edge. They’re speaking eagerly in hushed tones.

“That’s what I said! You know, no one believes me. Ember won’t even talk about it. She’s too scared.” I feel an old wound open, one made fresh again, at Bernie’s words. She’s opening up to Vali. She wants Vali, not me. She thinks I’m a coward.

“Nobody wants to be brave anymore, Bernie. Folks like you and me, and my friends, we still see a future outside of the Veil. It’s crazy that hundreds of years ago people could just go wherever they wanted. Can you imagine the freedom? That was Eden, Bernie, it was. What if we’re missing out?” He pauses and inhales deeply. He clasps his hands around his near-empty bowl. “My neighbor lost their little girl yesterday. I saw her three days ago. Her breathing sounded like a whistle through two reeds of grass. She was always so fragile. Her coughing used to rattle her so much I thought she’d convulse to death. But, nope, just stopped breathing. Like they all do.” For once Vali looks genuinely moved.

I close my eyes. Jesus, that is horrific.

“Oh, Vali, that’s so awful.” I can hear that Bernie is about to cry. “What is the family going to do?”

“The rest of them are booked for my first excursion. We’re getting out of here. We want to stop wondering what’s Beyond and see it for ourselves. You know about the Eden theory, right? We’re going to test it soon. What is the Veil keeping us from?” He sounds like a salesman again.

“I can tell you that,” I cut in, my voice dry and foreign, “it’s keeping you from death.”

Vali jumps at my voice but recovers quickly. “Speak of the devil! Ember, I was just telling your old lady Bernie here, about my plans to pass the Edge. I think she’s about to glide on out of here, by the looks of it. Did you see her face? All smiles. If I survive, I’ll be sure to take a lot of pictures for you guys. Postcards, whatever.”

Vali’s confidence is disgusting to me. That poor grieving family that he’s swindled. He usually sells old pictures of the Beyond. Waterfalls, rivers, beaches, all the things we don’t see anymore. But, his most popular product is himself. He can spin anything about the Beyond into fool’s gold.

Bernie’s face is pink when she turns towards me. “I’m not going to go or anything. I just wanted to hear what Vali thought about the bird I saw the other day.”

I nod rigidly. I sit down next to Bernie, and eat my delicious mush in silence, while they talk animatedly about the Beyond. About what used to be out there. Something about deer? I don’t remember what they are from school, some kind of forest animal I think. They sure as hell don’t exist anymore. They might be the ones with the long necks? Or horns? Really, no idea. I’m so laser focused on trying to picture a deer, that I almost miss Vali’s very discreet sales pitch.

“Bernie, you are really intelligent and open-minded. There are so few of us left now! You know, if you wanted in on my excursion I’d be willing to let you in on a discounted price.” He wiggles his thin, black eyebrows suggestively. My blood boils.

“Oh Vali, no, I couldn’t. I would love to, but I couldn’t.” She looks at me while saying this, not at him.

“Okay, well if you ever change your mind, the first excursion is next week. But, keep it quiet. The rangers can’t know.”

Bernie’s face is turned away from me as she slowly nods. I feel excluded from her, alienated, wrong. The lunch bell dings. Our time is up. Back to work.

***

Wailing. My chest tightens as I gasp for air. Goddamn those alarms. Red lights flash around the room hurting my eyes. I groan. The nights are never long enough. Yesterday was rough. Maybe today we’ll have a better assignment. I roll over to nudge Bernie. The bed is cold. I bolt up. Bernie never wakes up before me — it’s impossible. She enters a near coma every night. I race around our small apartment. I don’t see her. I check everything again. I open and slam every door. I even look in the larger cabinets that she hid in once for a game of hide and seek. But she’s not here. She’s gone.

Something catches my eye on the shiny black surface of our countertop. Bernie left a note. My hands are shaking. Her delicate handwriting clutches my heart.

Ember, I know. I’m sorry. But, I feel like I have to do this. I love our life together, but I feel like a bird in a cage. We breathe recycled air and pick up garbage that isn’t ours and stare at the same trees and the same blades of grass every day. I feel so trapped. We’re stuck on a treadmill on the same setting. I think there’s a better life for us. I want to go somewhere and see something new. I think that Eden is real. I’ve seen things Beyond the Veil. It’s alive out there. It has to be. I’m going with Vali. I can’t be trapped in here, even with such a wonderful cell-mate. If you want to come with us, we are going through the gap in the patrol on the southeast side of the Edge. You know the one. I want so desperately for you to come. I want to hold your hand at the base of an oak tree, its leaves shading us from a brilliant sun that heats our skin unlike ever before. I want to watch the wind kiss your face and rustle your hair. I want to see you smile at the birds twittering above our heads, upset that we’ve chosen their tree. They’ll swoop down at us, furious at the idea of us discovering their nest. But, we leave them be. All we do is share their tree. That is my greatest dream. Please tell me you share it. I love you. I hope you love me too. Even if I don’t deserve it. Yours, Bernie

The note is too short. I feel bile rise in my throat. Damn her. Damn me. Damn it all. I had a special day planned for us. I bought us pancake batter. I always make Bernie’s into funny shapes to make her laugh. I try to make our lives as palatable as I can, but I feel the knot in my throat bob at Bernie’s words. She is unhappy. No amount of silly pancakes could change that. I look longingly at the stove, Bernie’s dragging feet and sleepy eyes completely absent. I was looking forward to that. Fuck. .

***

I’m really good at pretending that my life isn’t falling apart. That is the skill that I’m relying on as I head towards the southeastern gap. I am so angry. So betrayed. I try to ignore the nagging sadness and abandonment that has settled itself in the base of my throat. I focus in on the anger to keep myself moving. It works. I see only red. I told her not to do it. Does she listen to me? No. It’s like talking to a godforsaken wall. Vali Cripps. To believe him over me? But Bernie was too busy seeing the good in him that doesn’t exist. They’re both totally stark, raving mad. Vali’s See where the Edge meets the horizon? Where it looks like a heatwave in technicolor? That’s where it is … Eden speech — I could throw up. Who would believe that horseshit? But Bernie ate it up, right out of the palm of his hand. I remember her green eyes were so wide and she was looking at him like he was God, their neon yellow jumpsuits screaming in the midday sun. I saw what he was pointing at too, and it didn’t look like Eden to me. It looked angry. Like a transparent oil spill coming to life, and hungry for whatever it could suck into its path. Thoughts racing, I pick up my pace. No one is out yet, or if they are I don’t see them, blinded by the severity of my mission. I am going so fast, fueled by anger and jealousy. I can’t let this happen. Bernie may be an idiot, but she’s my idiot. I don’t want her to die. I would never forgive myself.

I cringe thinking about Bernie. Her positivity used to be comforting to me. Sort of a light in the dark. But now, my poor, stupid Bernie, is on her way to die. And I have to save her stupid ass. Is love always going to be like this? Will I always be saving someone from a danger that I already warned them about? God, I can just see her laughing at Vali’s sleazy jokes and grabbing his arm as he spun those lies to her. She wants so desperately to believe that there will be a better life for us there, one where we can breathe deeply, but it’s just not possible.

Maybe if I had been a better listener this wouldn’t have happened. I shut Bernie down at every turn whenever she tried to shift the conversation towards the Veil.

***

I see them in the distance. A clump of them. Crowded around one figure. Vali. He must be making his big entrance speech. I start to run. They are 50 feet from the Edge. I’ve never seen people get so close. Its height is incredible. The translucent surface shimmers and moves in the coldness of the daylight. The multicolored shifting makes me dizzy. It does not feel welcoming.

Bernie is towards the back. Something unclenches in my chest when I see her. She’s still alive. She’s trying to catch a glimpse of Vali, their valiant speaker, but she’s too short to see over the people in front of her.

I finally reach her. I’m breathing heavily as I tap her shoulder. She shrieks, happy to see me, a small relief, which is followed by a hacking cough.

“Oh, Ember, you came! I didn’t think you would! Vali is telling us the plan for when we enter.” She grabs my sweaty hand tightly, her smile stretched so far it splits her face in two.

“Bernie, I think—”

“We have a new member! Ember, thank you for joining us.” Vali gestures towards me, and the crowd turns. Either eyeing me suspiciously or nodding at me encouragingly. If I ever wondered what it was like to join a cult, I don’t need to anymore. The way these people are looking at Vali is insane. A few almost drool.

Vali finds a different voice. A politicized tone, a polished exterior. All the better to convince us to go to our deaths with. “I know that you were all taught to fear the Edge, but I want to eradicate that fear today. No longer will we shudder at the idea of the Beyond, but instead, we will think of it as an area of unlimited opportunity. A place of beauty. These hundreds of years have cleaned the air that was once toxic to us. Nature has restored itself. The crimes of our ancestors have been answered to, by us, and now we will reclaim their Earth.” Vali raises his fist, triumphantly. His followers cheer. Bernie is absolutely vibrating with excitement. I hate being the reasonable one. Vali looks rabid. Eyes wild, hair disheveled. I want to believe him, it would be a relief, but I’m too rooted in this reality to be able to see the one Vali has fabricated.

“Now, it’s time, my friends, to begin our new life! Who among us is brave enough, strong enough, to enter the Beyond first?” Vali yells, gravel in his voice. His arms extend, embracing the crowd with his manic energy. A young boy near the front, his black hair shining in the soft morning sun, raises his hand. The woman next to him grabs his upraised arm, eyes fearful. His frame is thin and pale. Their faces are mirrors of one another. She must be his mother. The boy’s face is set, determined, despite its pallor. He removes his mother’s hand, and stares ahead stoically. He can’t be more than seventeen. “Ah yes, young Theo! Please, step forward.” Vali’s smile looks as if the corners of his mouth are being pulled upwards by strings. I think he may start to bleed soon, if the pulling of his skin continues.

Theo turns to face the Edge, Vali’s hands on his shoulders. He is maybe five feet from the iridescent wall that protects us from the poison Beyond. Theo stands there, facing the unnatural mass, and takes two steps forward. One more step and he will pass the Edge. He takes a deep breath. One step.

He is Beyond. He is Beyond. Theo is Beyond! He turns, his silhouette distorted. His shadow waves. We all clap and cheer. I am so shocked. I turn to Bernie, my jaw almost dislocated, and we embrace. Her body is wracked with happy sobs.

Someone screams. I turn back. Theo’s young body is on the ground, convulsing. It jerks as if he is possessed. I smell him. Decomposing before our eyes. His flesh is swelling. I can hear the distorted cries of pain that are wrenched from his shaking body. His right hand pops like an over-inflated tire. Blood and puss. Carnage. The scene is carnage. Bernie is crying.

She is whispering, “No, no, no, it can’t be,” as we back away from the Edge. Minutes pass, all of us locked in on Theo’s twitching body. His once black hair is white. His body stops moving. We are still. I had never seen someone die. Sirens are going off. The rangers will be here soon. Interference with the Veil is a major felony. I grab Bernie’s hand and pull her away.

“C’mon, let’s go home.” I say, softly.

Theo’s mother is shrieking. She is a crumpled form on the ground. Something inside of her is irrevocably broken. She doesn’t sound human.

The crowd advances on Vali as Bernie and I work our way back. Vali, hands raised, seems to accept his fate, as the mob pushes him beyond the Veil. I hear his flesh burst seconds later. Somewhere in the next four to six minutes Vali Cripps will die.

Bernie and I walk towards home, she leans into me, weeping, as I try to stay upright for the both of us. I’m shaking. My hands are numb where they hold onto Bernie’s shoulders. I didn’t believe Vali, I really didn’t. But some part of me wanted to, so desperately. There is nowhere else for us to go. We’re stuck in this cage. Safe, not sound, but safe, inside the Veil.