Borderline

October 28th, 2084

I have something within me. I don’t know who or what it is, but it is as much me as what others see of me, yet it hides within the part of me that is unseen to the world.

…

It was a dreary day in November, and Bentley’s watch struck thirteen. The immense, foreboding sky-scrapers of a lifeless New York City loomed over his head. He rushed along the barren streets, shielding his face from the bitter winds. Winter’s knife had come early. 

A wad of papers fluttered under his ash-coloured hand, as he squeezed them tight against his chest. He felt the peaks of his ribs through his quilted jacket. The papers carved deep into the valleys, where his skin was sucked to the bone. 

He hadn’t eaten in two days.

It was the result of working long hours in his split studio apartment, that he shared with an elderly woman, of whom he never asked a name. The curtain that sectioned off his half of the room, choked what little white light came through the window. His portion was filled with an oak desk he found on the outskirts of the city, a victorian-esque lamp, a cooler, and a rickety Murphy bed, which was braced to the wall. It was easy to lose track of his days in the dim orange light of the room, and late November’s dullness never caused a yearning for time outdoors. 

The city’s elegance lacked the warmth and excitement of the old movies Bentley had seen as a boy. There were no heroes flying along the rooftops; Only thick, wet smoke cloaked the mid-day sky. The buildings’ beauty concealed their true malevolence. Their fullness was merely a clever deception; much like the lining of his stomach, the insides of these colossal coffins remained hollow and desolate.

Bentley found himself treading along the city’s fissure and was swallowed by the vast openness of the streets. He passed the monuments of fallen buildings: heinous, naked cavities that plunged into the earth. The square crater of the Empire State Building was the largest of all. It sucked the light from his vision, the moment he eyed it. Last summer marked the thirtieth anniversary of it’s collapse. He moved past it with a gallop in his stride.

He reached the entrance to the subway. A single, orange-bulbed lamppost marked the top step. He tramped down the staircase and the warmth of the underground pricked his frozen skin. Large heat vents glowed red, a head and a half above his own; within a couple of minutes, it caused his forehead to bubble and drip. He clambered into the crowded station, and his thoughts churned as he looked for the sign of his fast-cart. The people around him donned broad overcoats of navy, tan, and maroon. They jolted past him in all directions. What’s more, is that each person was almost indistinguishable from the next. They wore plain, heavy faces and pug-like noses, with cheeks that sagged over the sharpness of their skulls. It was as if clones of the working man had been dispersed around the subway. Bentley avoided their eyes as much as he could. He looked to the markings on the floors and walls to guide him through the station. He stopped when his feet strayed over a yellow-spotted line. The fast-cart came to a sudden stop. His flushed lips were whipped with the stale, rancid air, a chime sounded, and the doors opened. Dressed like the masses around him, a swarm of squashed-nosed people stepped off in unison. 

He ignored their gaze and stepped into the cart.

The cart’s interior was lined in white and dark wood that spanned from floor to ceiling. Crystal chandeliers filled the top of the cart and casted warm light on the velvet seating. It was a prewar design that encapsulated the look of the ideal twenty-first century home. Square marks were left on the flooring, from the round tables that had once filled the room; in their place were plexiglass dividers, which separated the passengers’ seats. Bentley found a spot in the corner to quietly tuck away. Soon after, the rest of the cart was filled with people; a sickly blend of blue, brown, and red filled Bentley’s vision. He pulled out his papers and promptly shuffled through them. He then plucked his pocket typer from his jacket and began to write.

…

Nov. 28th, 2084

From the first moment my eyes fell to her lips, I knew she’d belong to me. I picked her apart that day. Her dark hair, drawn over her eyes, made it hard to read her complexion, but her lips showed me what her eyes couldn’t. The subtle bow that arched tightly when she smiled suggested her playfulness and vulnerability. Her lower lip puckered and drooped when she grazed her teeth across it. It is that strum of chord that rings out a deep desire to feel. 

…

Bentley sat in a void that closely resembled his room. The light of his monitor coated his skin; his highlights were brushed with its white paste. The rhythm and angst of his mind caused him the sensation of turning. He felt himself lift into the air and back down again. His spine was a chain that anchored his skull to the ground. He pushed against the feeling. His eyes swirled. He spiralled out of control until he felt a wince in his neck and the jolt that sprung him awake. 

Bentley was rigid and upright, back in the soft, velvet seat of the fast-cart. 

He had fallen asleep, only for a second, and the lasting moments of his world turning were lost in the depths of memory. He gazed out the window. With the speed of the fast-cart, the tunnel’s brick walls melted into waves of shadow and gentle glistening. His attention drifted to the left side of the cart, where a poster hung above the plain-faced crowd. The intense red, gold, and blue of the trim was intimidating, but the complete image was all the more unsettling. The poster depicted thirteen people holding hands in a circle with large lettering overhead:

WE ARE ONE WITH THE STATE, WE MUST UNFAILINGLY ATTAIN THE GOALS OF STATE, THE STATE’S SURVIVAL IS OUR SURVIVAL.

Bentley recognized the words as his states’ party slogan. The formality and ferocity of the language squeezed his ribs tight to his lungs. 

He had heard it for the first time as a boy; the party’s chant would play on the broadcaster every morning. The blare of the horns and the announcer’s smooth but firm voice, drew the full attention of the room. The chime at the end of the message sent the space into silence. Red, gold, and blue tones of the screens radiated into Bentley’s skin, as the static numbed his senses. One minute, everyday of his childhood, was lost to allegiance, and soon these moments of loyalty bled together, until each memory was indistinguishable from the next.

The words were burned into his sight; the chant of the state party buzzed in his ears. His eyes darted across the cart, pausing at each of the men in navy, tan, and maroon. The party’s colours blazed through their uniform in a sudden transparency. He came into an immediate panic. Sweat boiled from the top of his head and seeped down his skin. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass. His face was aged and wrinkled, with a short, stubby nose and cheeks that were sucked to the tongue. He lost the strength of his breath and his vision fuzzed. 

A blotch of vibrant, green light seized his eyes; they refocused. 

A handsome, young woman sat across from Bentley, tucked between a blur of blue and brown, in the opposite corner of the cart. She flourished in her emerald speckled dress. Her dark, curly hair pulled his gaze to her cherry lips. Tears rolled down her cheeks and pooled in the corners of her mouth. The scene stripped Bentley of his dread and rattled his memory like the strum of a chord. 

It was about a year before when he had seen the dark-haired girl for the first time. She had abruptly moved into the apartment across from his, and he caught a glimpse of her in the hallway. She was planted under the heavenly glow of the hall light when she ignited a spark in his heart. He dreamt of the day he could meet her, but the opportunity never arose. She was a quiet neighbour and almost never left the building. Bentley witnessed the few occasions she did. It was only a few weeks into her move, when he made note of the last time she left. She wore a stunning, shiny pencil dress with frilled short sleeves, and she hauled a silver suitcase to match. It was an unusual spectacle, as none who had ever lived in his building could afford such a valuable dress. When Months passed, and Bentley had yet to see her again, he was sure her time there had solely been for work and that she would never come back.

But there she was, alone and crying, among the masses in the fast-cart of the subway, A brilliant beacon within the sea of red, gold, and blue.

They came to a stop above ground. The chime sounded and the doors flew open. The frigid outside air flooded the cart, leaving a tart sting on the tip of his tongue. The girl stood up and slipped through the crowd. Bentley quickly followed, his eyes fixed on the sparkling emerald dress.

He leaped off the platform and raced through the station. The wind picked up speed and pricked the sweat on his skin. He reached the turnstile, plunged through the bars, and scrambled into the street. He whirled on the spot and spotted the girl; she turned into an alleyway at the far end of the road.

When he reached the corner, he found the girl cowering on the concrete. She rested her head against the chipped rust of a dumpster, specks of red scattered in her dark hair. Despite his presence, she continued to cry.

What was once her emerald-green dress, was now a filthy olive colour. 

She was no longer a sight to behold. 

What were once her luscious lips, were now cracked, bloody, and blistered.

She looked pitiful.

Bentley left the girl to cry in the alley. He never asked her what was wrong. The sun was set, and the darkness seeped into the late November air. It swallowed him whole as he drifted through the deserted streets.

…

December 28th, 2084

As time passes, I realize much of reality itself, is an enigma. All of us are confined to the space between our ears. This city masks the truth of internal, individual realities with the external, collective, objective space. 

…

The inside of Dr. Massinger’s apartment was musty. The walls were lined with floral wallpaper that peeled and wrinkled along the edges. The carpet was left bald in a few spots along with patches that were stained a yellowish brown. During the day, the whole room would rot in the heat, and bits of dust and dirt would dance in the warm rays of the sun. Now, however, the room was dark. The red glow of his boiler light sank the space into a kind of eternal hell.

Bentley stood at the door, his breath pulled from his lungs. A tightness crept in his chest and an itch bit at his fingertips. He knocked three times with the door-knocker toad. Dr. Massinger’s black eyes appeared in the side window. After an audible click, the door was open. 

“In,” said Dr. Massinger. 

Bentley shuffled through and shut the door with his heel. He lifted a stack of papers off a yellowing couch and sat on the edge of the seat. 

“I take it you want the usual?” Dr. Massinger opened a bag of lemon drops. He threw one in his mouth and plunked back in his desk chair. 

Bentley scratched at his thumbs. 

“No. I’m looking for something a little stronger, actually. It’s been happening more frequently,” he said. Dr. Massinger looked him up and down. 

“Right, the plain-faced folk and the city of darkness?” He turned and threw open the drawer of a steel cabinet. From it, he pulled a small, yellow bottle of pills. 

“These will help relieve your stress,” said Dr. Massinger, “They have a hell of a kick, though. Don’t take them too often, and make sure that when you do, it’s before sleep.” 

Bentley took the bottle from his hand and inspected the tiny blue capsules inside. 

“Come to me if your prescription is dry. Pepper pint’s their street name, but often people lace them.” 

Bentley left the building. He popped off the cap and slid a pill into his hand. He slugged it back and swallowed. The pill slithered coarsely down his throat. 

He strolled through the city. The vast, open streets gradually pulled together, consuming the space around him. The lights of the surrounding buildings danced in his features. It started to rain. It bubbled on his skin and smoothed out the roughness of his features. The water glistened on every surface. The darkness of the city was absorbed into the light.