Less Than Eternity

This is an existential tale that asks the question: Where does fiction end, and life begin?

Shaking the depression had been harder than usual that morning, so the sun was nearing its zenith before she arrived at the trailhead. She chided herself for her incompetence - not only would she have to cross the desert in the midday heat, but she would be late as well. Late for her first command. Late for her funeral.

As she hurried along the trail, she considered the shrubs and cacti that had adapted so well to the inhospitable climate. If she and the others were to survive, they would have to learn to do with little, adjust to the unforgiving environment and outwit every venomous creature that called this particular wasteland home. She had often hiked in the area, but she had always been able to return to her Jeep when the going got rough. She had never really met the desert on its on terms. And she had certainly never had to protect a herd of useless, pampered women in the middle of nowhere.

Despite the assurances that she had been given, her stomach churned as she crossed the second dry wash. There was no water to be seen, and the tiny lizards that darted across the rocks could hardly be considered food. Promises or not, she felt more like an exile than a pioneer. An exile with a greatly shortened lifespan.

She broke into a panic-inspired jog, ignoring her labored breathing and concentrating instead on the steady thwack-thwack of her pack against her back. She had to get to the others, had to keep them from roaming off like abandoned sheep to die of heatstroke. Worse yet, if she didn’t get there soon, she’d lose her first command to Dakota. It’d be just like that bleeding-heart idealist to take over for the good of the many.

If only it hadn’t taken her so long to crawl out of her cocoon that morning, if only she could shake the dullness that even now threatened to overcome her. What kind of moron would put a manic-depressive in charge of a survival mission anyway? Of course, she’d been at the height of a manic upswing when she’d accepted the position.

Winded, she stopped to gulp from her canteen, though more of it went down her shirt than into her mouth. She collapsed gracelessly onto the ground and tried to quiet her breathing before anyone could see how out of shape she was. It was several moments before she could breathe inconspicuously, and then she realized just how close she was to the camp - she could hear bickering from the hilltop above her. Just what she needed - to spend eternity with bitches and hysterics.

She gazed at the path behind her, but she knew there was no point in going back now. For one thing, her brand new, overpriced, eye-catching little red Jeep had probably disappeared shortly after she started out on this ridiculous journey. She didn’t know what the others drove, but she hadn’t seen Dakota’s pathetic junker of a Toyota at the trailhead, so she concluded that while it was an hour’s walk into the camp, it would be a hell of a long walk out. But someday . . .

She dragged herself to her feet before the depression could force her back into her cocoon. She had to climb the hill, had to take charge, had to . . . what? Oversee eternity. She laughed at the absurdity of it all. That’s why she’d been put in charge of this pointless mission - she was the only one who’d seen Waiting for Godot, No Exit, and all those other delightful, depressing, soul-numbing visions written by existentialists. She was the only one who could really appreciate the genius that went into creating their situation.

Well, if she was going to be written out of existence, she couldn’t ask for more beautiful surroundings. Their camp was in the foothills of a stark range of mountains and, as long as their water held out, she intended to explore each and every one of them. She considered asking Dakota to join her, and then dismissed the thought. Dakota was a social activist, not a mountain climber.

She abandoned the path in favor of a quick rock-scramble up the hill. The rocks were brittle, and she set off three small rockslides, but still managed to reach the top without landing in an embarrassed heap on the trail below. She nearly slid back down, however, when she caught sight of the camp.

“I’ll be damned. An oasis in the middle of the desert. Talk about creative license!” She pulled herself to her feet and brushed off her jeans, all the while staring at her new home. A large lake lay before her, surrounded by palm trees and four small adobe buildings. A larger building with what appeared to be a dish-receiver on it was on the other side of the lake. A wooden bridge swung across the water. So far, the promises had been kept.

The bickering she had heard came from four women by the water’s edge. She recognized them all, though she’d never actually met any of them. The two teens were Lana Markham and Sandra Baxter. Lana was a relic from the perfect-heroine days - she had blonde hair, expressive blue eyes, a graceful figure and absolutely no idea that she was beautiful. Sandra was more realistic, but still perfect. She had ash-blonde hair, gentle blue eyes and a nice figure, but she also had a brain, and had misgivings about her place in the universe. She was at least tolerable and didn’t giggle continuously.

An older woman, Chandra, stood apart from the teens. A failed experiment, she’d stubbornly clung to an obscure half-life for decades. Her features were vague, her hair and eyes indefinable. She stood in the shadows, staring into space. She gave no outward sign that she was aware of the new arrival.

The last woman was Dakota. From the anti-heroine days, she had mousy, unmanageable brown hair, nondescript hazel eyes and a forgettable figure. She lost no time expressing her displeasure.

“Skyler. I should have known you’d be involved in this somehow.”

“Only to the extent that you are, my dear Dakota.” Skyler adjusted her pack, ran her fingers through her hair and walked towards the small group in what she hoped was a confident manner. “Well, well, look at this - water flows in the desert. Our Creator never lets accuracy get in Her way, does She?”

“I’m Sandra. This is Lana, and I guess you know Dakota.”

“I’m Skyler.” She nodded amiably. “And I’m the leader of this motley little group.”

“Like hell you are! Who died and made you boss?”

Skyler forced herself to be calm as she answered Dakota. Leading the others would be easy since they expected to be led. But Dakota was no sheep - she’d have to earn her respect or lose everything. “That’s not a terribly original line, Dakota, but, actually, no one died. Someone retired and made me boss.”

“Retired?” Skyler watched the realization sink in on Dakota’s face. “I knew she was thinking about it, but She always says She’s going to retire. I never really believed . . .”

“Retired?” Lana glanced apprehensively at their surroundings. “Where does that leave us?”

“Here, I presume.” Skyler forced an upbeat tone. “Look, there’s nothing to worry about. She’s given up writing, but She wants us to live happily ever after.”

“So She sent us to the desert to die?” Sandra scowled at the surrounding acres of cacti. “What’d we ever do to Her?”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. She sent us to the desert to live, not to die.” Skyler morphed into a cheerful tour guide. “Look around you - there’s plenty of water. And those buildings are filled with the only things Her characters have ever needed - junk food and TV. And, thanks to creative license and suspension of reality, our food will never run out and our MTV will never be fuzzy. What more do you kids want out of life?”

“But we tried the doors to the cabins and they’re locked.” Sandra was clearly not embracing their new opportunity.

“Skyler has the keys, don’t you?”

“I do, but how’d you know that?”

Lana shrugged. “I just knew.”

“Ah.” Skyler remembered then. Lana had ESP, though Skyler had always dismissed it as a hokey gimmick. Whatever. Now was not the time to deal with esoteria. “Ok, first things first. Dakota and I know who you kids are, but I suspect you don’t know much about us. Chandra, you’re her oldest character, though I know you’ve been in limbo for a while. Do you understand what’s going on here?”

Dakota tapped Chandra’s shoulder to get her attention. Skyler had to repeat herself two more times before getting a hesitant answer.

“I don’t know why I’m here. I’m so confused. I don’t think I belong on this planet.”

“No, you’re from another time and place, though the details were always pretty vague.”

“But I have a mission. I must fight injustice. I’m not with the lunatic fringe, but I became entangled with politics because of my mission.”

“Yes.” Skyler tried to smile reassuringly. “Unfortunately, your mission was never defined very clearly. But you don’t have to worry now. You can just enjoy yourself.”

Chandra nodded distantly, her vacant stare returning. It was obvious she would be the first to go. The only question was when.

“Chandra, I evolved from you. I’m the cynic that you would have become at the end of your mission.” Skyler reached awkwardly for the silent woman. “I owe my very existence to you, so anything you need, just ask. Anything.”

Chandra was lost in her own thoughts.

Skyler shrugged and turned her attention to the others. “Lana, I know you have a gift for understanding people and seeing into the future. I hope you’ll help me out - I do well to see what happened in the past.”

“I’ll be glad to, but my gift comes and goes.” Lana shivered in the desert heat. “It’s more of a curse really. Still, I’ll do what I can. I can’t help noticing though that we’re not going to be starting a new Eden here. Unless we’re expecting someone else to arrive.”

“Yes, well, you know how much trouble She had writing sex scenes. She sent the men to their own place.”

“Hawaii, probably.” Sandra kicked a rock, startling Chandra.

“More likely Antarctica,” Skyler chuckled. “If it means anything, She loves the desert. This was meant as an honor.”

Skyler ignored Sandra’s rolled eyes. “Anyway, we can finally test the theory that women can’t work and play well together. Which leads me to Dakota . . .”

“I can work just fine with you or anyone else, Skyler. But since I’m the one with the psychology degree, I think I would be the logical choice for leader.”

“You’re a burned-out therapist, Dakota. You can’t help Sandra, much less anyone else.” Skyler hastily turned to the teen. “No reflection on you, Sandra - I’ve seen the outline for your future. You turn out great, despite getting screwed up by the social service system.”

“It’s not necessary to talk to her like that - she’s had a rough time as a foster kid  . . .”

“I have nothing but respect for Sandra, Dakota. It’s you and your leadership abilities that I question.”

“Frankly, Skyler, I’d rather have a burned-out therapist in charge than a manic-depressive.”

Skyler winced, though she knew it was coming eventually. “Look, Dakota, I can do more on my manic days than you can do in a month.”

“No doubt. But seeing that you were an hour late today, I suspect that you’re fighting to come out of a depression. How long do you think you can carry off this act?”

Not too much longer, she thought. “This is pointless. Let’s see what’s in the cabins.” Skyler fought to get a key off her key ring. “Sandra and Lana, you girls can share a cabin. That way you can giggle all night and no one will kill you. Chandra, you can choose whichever cabin you like.” She held out a key to Sandra and one to Chandra. Sandra reached for both keys, handed one to Lana. “If it’s ok with you, Chandra, I’d like to share your cabin. I won’t get in your way.” Sandra gently herded Chandra toward one of the buildings.

“I’ll scope out the area,” Lana mumbled to no one in particular. “Make sure we don’t have any surprises in store.”

“Thanks.” Skyler waited for the others to get out of earshot. “That just leaves us.”

“Don’t tell me we’re roommates,” Dakota glowered. “I’d rather be staked out in a scorpion’s nest.”

“They don’t make nests.”

“You know damn well what I mean.”

“Yes, I do and you don’t have to worry.” Skyler gestured to the small buildings. “We have our own cabins. She knew we’d kill each other if She put us together. We’re opposite sides of the same coin, you know.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The cynic and the idealist. We both destroy ourselves by thinking too much. You think you’re going to change the world, and I know I’m not going to. But at least you and I think. We’re not like the sheep who go through their boring little lives taking orders.”

Dakota sat down at the water’s edge, kicked off her shoes and plunged her feet into the cool water. “I suppose you have a point in an odd, conceited sort of way.”

Skyler joined the other woman, unsure how much she could trust Dakota, deciding that she didn’t have much to lose. “You’re going to become like me, you know. A cynic, I mean.” She waited for a four-letter response, but Dakota merely watched the water. “You’re not denying it? Then you must have started down that path already. I’m sorry.”

“A certain amount of cynicism is necessary to do social work.” Dakota dismissed the topic with a shrug. “By the way, are you preparing for any particular career in college? I don’t recall seeing it mentioned in your outline.”

“My proposed career is mentioned? But it’s immaterial. I’m just a charming ne’er-do-well.” Skyler laughed at Dakota’s skeptical look. “All right, I’m a moody ne’er-do-well. Sue me!”

“Great! I get to spend the rest of eternity with a cynical, manic-depressive ne’er-do-well. Charming!”

Skyler wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “It won’t be eternity, exactly. A great deal less than that, really. Though I didn’t see any reason to tell the kids.”

“What do you mean? We’re characters. If we die, She can bring us back to life.”

“If She chooses to.”

“Then . . . She really has retired.”

“Yes, and She sent us here to live happily until She forgets about us.”

“And what happens when She forgets us?”

Skyler considered lying, but she knew she would need Dakota’s help if her plan was going to work. “Then we dissolve and become one with the Universe. Look at Chandra - it’s already starting. She never had much of a character to begin with, and she’s becoming less defined with every passing day. Someday - poof - she’ll be gone.”

“And the rest of us?”

“Sandra is just a teenage fantasy. Lana is a stereotypical gimmick. They’ll go next. In the end, it’ll just be you and me. We’ve always been her best female characters. Considering how boring She thought females were to write about, that’s probably not much of a compliment. Still, we’ll have a little longer than the kids, I think.” Skyler felt a chill, despite the intense heat. The whole idea had been less terrifying before she’d said it aloud. Once spoken, it seemed to become inevitable.

“I wish my friends were here. No offense, but . . .” Dakota sighed and glanced back the way they’d come.

“I know. I’d rather be with my friends too. They understand me, don’t expect anything from me. But She didn’t save any supporting characters.”

“What about Sandra?”

“She’s a supporting character in your storyline, but after she leaves you, she becomes one of the main characters in a book with so many subplots you’d go crazy reading it. It was meant to tell the meaning of life, but it was finally shelved.”

“Just like us. Well, I guess that’s why you were put in charge, Skyler. You’re a cynic. You can deal with nothingness and - death - easier than I can.”

“True, but I have no intention of fading away.” Skyler felt an irrational spark of determination ignite within her. This too became inevitable once it was spoken. “She made one mistake when She sent me here.”

“What?”

“She forgot She made me an existentialist.” Skyler jumped to her feet as she felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that signaled the beginning of a manic phase. Finally, the fog had lifted and she no longer had to fight to keep the depression at bay. “Dakota, consider Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Obscure reference. Never mind. The question is: do you have to die just because someone writes you out of the script? Rosencrantz and Guildenstern couldn’t rewrite the script, but I intend to survive. I may be Her character, but I’m not Her pawn. I can create my own reality, weave the tapestry of my own life. I’m no one’s plaything. When She forgets about me, I will continue. But I need your help.”

“Mine? What can I do? I’m not even sure I know what you’re talking about.”

Skyler knew she was talking too fast, that she must sound insane, but once the fire was ignited, it was beyond her control. “You’re an idealist, Dakota. You have the drive to go on even when it makes no sense to keep trying. You know damn well that I’ll lose my determination one day and consider oblivion a welcome change. I need you to keep me from giving up entirely. I can turn the world upside down, but I need you to keep it turning.”

Dakota considered, slowly nodded. “All right, I’ll help you create a new reality - but for everyone - not just you and me.”

Skyler shook her head. No one was hyper enough to take on that task. “They’re not very well defined. We’d have to practically start from scratch.”

“Then we’ll start from scratch. I’ve never been an élitist and I don’t intend to start now. Besides, it’d be awful boring around here with just the two of us. And potentially dangerous.”

Skyler couldn’t help laughing. They would probably end up killing each other, but until that day . . . “All right, we all create our own paths and then we follow them right out of here. And, someday, we’ll forget about Her and see if She can survive without us.”

- E. J. McFall 
Platteville, Wisconsin, U.S.A.