I wake up to a skyscraper.
It stretches relentlessly into the sky, the summit tearing away from me as I stare up.
I am wet. The ground is. I squint upwards and notice crowds of people herded by me. I sit up and stare.
"Jesus, Alison, you're soaked," I hear beside me. I look around and catch sight of a man adorned with a clean black suit. He smiles at me receptively. "Come on, let's draw you a hot bath, eh?" I still stare at him; he is almost in reach of me, I think; I'll know him in a minute. He offers his hand out to me and I grab it.
He leads me into the building. It seem misshapen from outside; the bottom is thinner than the middle, and the whole thing curves around into itself. The windows at the top are shining; the sidewalk is basked in a slight red glow. I seem to be the only person noticing this: everyone else walks to their jobs with their eyes trained on the sidewalk, oblivious to this new wonder.
He leads me into an elevator inside the building. Pressing a button, he glances at me with the knowing look of an old friend. I smile back, feigning memory of whatever companionship he's found here. The elevator hums and the doors sneak open; he leads me inside. We sit in silence as we rise; the lights of the floors pulse as we pass them. Finally, the doors open and he leads me out. I follow him to a door marked "p57". He fumbles with his keys and opens the door, holding it open for me as I walk inside. The apartment is dim with a pale blue hue to it, cold and impersonal, as if he were sleeping in his office. He kicks off his shoes and walks to an open door. "Follow me," he orders. I look him in the eye; his sight refuses to budge from me, and he lies motionless until
I stir towards the door. He walks to a tub and pushes a button, and it fills with water in a moment. "I'll see if I can guilt any clothes out of my neighbors, since I guess you don't have any." His voice raises at the end, almost as if it were a question, and he watches me expectantly. I shake my head and mumble my thanks. He walks out of the room, locking the door behind him.
I disrobe and slide into the water. My legs catch my eye. They're bruised all over. There are scratches all over my thighs, and five large cuts. I've never been this sore in my life. The water will heal me, I tell myself; it will cleanse my wounds. It ripples around me as I watch it; my hands coast along the surface; to disrupt something so calm could be no more divine of a privilege; I smile as I smash the water beneath my hands. I wince as I clean myself; my skin is cracked and irritated. The pain is bearable. I finish cleaning myself and step out of the water. I slip on a towel and enter his apartment. A pile of clean, folded underwear and a sun-dress sits before me, warm to the touch. I slip them on and lie on the couch. I can feel the red glow pouring in from outside; the windows of the other buildings refuse to accept it.
I hear the door slam and look behind me. He holds a bag in his arms and stumbles slightly as he walks. "Oh, you're out. I brought you some food." He waddles towards the refrigerator, barely suspending the bag. I burrow my head into the pillow as I watch him slip the groceries into the fridge; his motions are perfect, as if calculated months in advance. I can't help but feel slightly uneasy. Still, he is hospitable, I remind myself; he must be a friend. A good friend.
He finishes unloading his groceries and slinks over to the chair beside me.
"The arcology, you realize, is an entirely self-sufficient community." Watching him speak feels like mesmerization without glee; it is a quiet respect. He speaks the words as if they were memorized, each syllable pored over excruciatingly; his interest must be endless. "We don't even need to worry about the outside world; we only leave for a change, you know? Do you understand the idea of a community, Alison?" I cannot feel so desperate, I tell myself. I am barely holding back tears. He doesn't notice. "All of the utilities we need, all of the food, the companionship, the sex, the work; it's all here!" He laughs. "It's almost Utopia, do you understand?" I burst out crying and he sits still, looking at me. His expression is static. I sob into the pillow as he watches me.
"Alison, you will find perfection inside it."
He hovers over the stove, the frying pan spitting out radio static. It smells wonderful, but hunger won't volunteer itself to me. He must have draped a blanket over me in my sleep; I curl up with it wrapped around me, and he turns around briefly at the noise. He finishes cooking, walks over, and slides a plate in front of me. "Eat," he commands. I look at him, my eyes wide open. "You must eat, Alison." I reach for the plate and force the food down my throat. He watches me, a glimmer of worry in his eyes. The most human I've seen him yet. I finish and he takes it away.
"Did they rape you, Alison?"
I look at him, alarmed.
"I saw your wounds. You look like shit, you know." I haven't looked in the mirror. I nod slowly. I don't remember. "Listen to me, Alison. You cannot get involved with them." I look at him, bewildered. "The Adventists, Alison. They want to destroy us. Our perfect society, Alison. They want nothing more than complete anarchy." The red light illuminates his face tirelessly. He looks defeated, almost. He sits beside me. He is too close. I shrink away from him; I try to do it coyly. "I don't know what you're talking about," I mutter. He looks at me, almost angrily. "Don't fall for their tricks, Alison. They are dangerous people. They know too much about you. What you have, Alison. It's a gift. It is your birthright. No, it's our birthright. Together."
I turn into the sofa and close my eyes. I feel the couch shift as he stands and his footsteps pound into my ears as he walks away.
The light never stops. The apartment bathes in the luxury the light aspires to, never flickering, never resting. I blink my eyes and stare at his clock. It flashes "3:03 AM," blurring as my eyes try to shut. I hear his voice in the next room. Light shines through the bottom of his door; the floor devours as much as it can, like a starving child licking a plate clean.
"She's here," he says. "Only a few days, officer." He pauses. "Whatever you say, officer. No, she won't be a problem." I hear a click and his feet shuffle about the room. His door opens and he walks to the bathroom. He fiddles with something in his hands. My clothes. He draws something from my pocket and throws them back to the floor. I snap my eyes shut before he can see me watching.
"Do you know who you are, Alison?" I stare at him. His smile is like a jack-o-lantern's: motionless, unafraid to throw its sickening light onto the world around it.
"I'm nobody," I say. His eyes light up at my speech, and then wither in disappointment. "I don't know what you think I have, but I don't have it."
"Alison, Alison," he smiles, "you are the world to us! You are the promise that they gave us, our bright tomorrow." I see the words fall out of his mouth.
"I don't know who you are. I want to leave," I assert, "I want to leave right now." It's like a weight lifted from my chest. He slaps me. Hard. My eyes tear at it; it stings horribly.
"You don't understand, do you? You are all we have left," he says, his voice growing slightly angrier. There are embers in his eyes, threatening to ignite.
"How do you know my name?" I snap at him. "How dare you lay a hand on me?"
"There are no heroes, Alison; there are only weak, pathetic men struggling through every day trying to survive. The outside world is desolate. I saved you from that, Alison. Don't ever forget that." I watch him gather himself and leave.
I lie there for hours, waiting for his light to turn off. I walk as silently as I can towards the bathroom and rummage through my clothes. The pockets are all empty. I notice the hum of the vent on the wall; the air it spits out is stale, but it can't help but feel familiar. As I watch it, a slip of paper flies out.
I watch its slow descent to the ground. I walk to it and pick it up.
"You must be completely silent. Press the green button on the wall, then 4037# on the keypad next to it. Do not go within a meter of the tub." I look at the vent. The hum rises slightly and drops. I look around myself quickly, There is a keypad and a series of buttons next to the door. I walk over to it on the balls of my feet and follow the instructions. The vent slides open. A hand reaches out and beckons, then disappears back into it. I climb into the vent and it closes behind me.
"The ventilation shafts are the only unsupervised part of the arcology," a low voice mutters. "We must leave quickly, though, as they will grow suspicious hastily. There are others waiting outside. You must hurry. Come."
He shuffles quickly through the passage. We arrive at a barren room, its walls covered with vents. A single door leads outward. I see him for the first time; he is small and wiry, dressed entirely in black. A mask covers his face, a terrible specter; still, I can't help but feel some relief at his presence. A flashlight and a gun hang from his belt. Another man opens the door, similarly dressed, and barks at us. "There is no time. Customs has detected a breech. We have no more than four minutes. Run." We follow him to an elevator of wires and broken chain link fences. He presses several buttons speedily and we begin to descend.
"You are lucky, Alison," he looks at me, "that we got to you in time. He could have killed you. It's likely that he was poisoning your food."
"Who are you people?" I demand. He looks at me like a dog begging for a treat, than looks at the floor, silent. The elevator stops and he grabs my arm and pulls me outward. We burst out onto the street, and several men grab me and throw me in a blank armored truck, locking the door behind me. A light flickers on and I feel the truck lurch forward. Gunshots ricochet from its walls, and I twist my head. A door opens near the front and a cleanly dressed, aging man floats forward. I watch him sit down. He looks at me, paternal, worried. "You don't know me, do you, Alison?" I give him a vacant stare. He frowns slightly. "My name is Benjamin, Alison. I went to school with you a long time ago. I never expected to have to see you like this. They've made it clear that they wish for nothing to interfere with the fulfillment of their goals."
I look at him questioningly.
"You've been asleep for a long time, Alison. Many things have changed."
The truck rumbles along the road. I stare at him. He smiles at me knowingly and places his hands on his lap.
"What the fuck," I snap at him, "are you talking about? Who are you people?"
"The arcologies," he says, "they are the terrible ornaments of our skylines. They are a virus. The man you were with, Alison, he is no more than a executable. He serves to recruit. He is nothing more. He has been hollowed. You have never met that man."
"No," I insist. There is memory of him yet. I knew him in high school. I see him so clearly right now; we sit on the shore, sipping beers and smiling. We were in love, weren't we? Yes, I remind myself. I smile at the thought. I remember how he would touch me then, so caring, as if I were the most fragile glass; I would fall into him grinning. He was everything.
"I can see it happening to you right now, Alison," he says, his eyelids struggling to stay afloat. "Fight it. The memories are false. You don't know that man."
He's wrong. I've known him my entire life. We grew up together. I lost myself to him. There is nothing to fight, these are truths, they are tangible, I insist. They are right in front of me. They're so beautiful. We were all. He's the only thing left.
"You're wrong," I tell him. "I've never been so sure of anything in my entire life. Don't try to trick me."
"You must listen, Alison. Don't think, just listen."
I shrink into my seat.
"Rome grew desperate as their supplies withered," he states. "and so they began to expand. It was the only way we could assure peace; our people had to survive. The others thought they could guarantee prosperity themselves; the arcologies were built like beehives; their members serve the arcology and the arcology only. They call us the Adventists, Alison; they want to demonize us. To them, we are nothing but a cult. But we are the fighters. We are the ones that want to live free and uninhibited. The separatists steal your thoughts, Alison, and you serve the machine only. You, Alison, you are our only hope of recovery. You are the assurance of order in the system that we've needed so badly. We need you so that we can fight them, Alison. Otherwise we're nothing more than warring tribes struggling to emerge victorious. We are useless without you. Do you understand?"
I feel like a child falling asleep in class. I hear him in the distance, but the roar of the truck along the roads is so loud. "I'll never join you," I hear myself say. "You're a liar. You have nothing to offer me." Tyler sits in the back of my mind, beckoning. That's his name, Tyler. I've known him my entire life. I lost myself to him. This is true. I love him. I will always love him. He is everything to me.
Benjamin doesn't stop me as I burst through the doors. I fall onto the highway from the speeding truck.
I will spend the rest of my life with him. |
