Wasteland

This is a short story that I found when cleaning out my computer files. I wrote it over a decade ago. I hope my writing style has improved since then, but when re-reading it I was drawn in by the symbology, although my teenage analysis of some of the issues surroundingd Eden are too simplistic. It is interesting to see how my thought processes and values have evolved since high school, and what has remained the same. I hope you will find this story to be food for thought.

The circle in the sky burns, sending light and heat to the cold ground below. But more often than not, it finds the people first. They gather the sunlight as it touches their skin, needing it’s warmth to live, using the light to see what they can through the dark, heavy cold of the air. They need it, and yet it withers their skin, every touch shortening their existence even as it keeps them alive. The people of the wasteland know no different. The light, the withering, the heat and the cold were there, have always been there, and always will be. That is reality, and they cling to it as they would a precious jewel. That is life.
The land is teeming with life, mostly human life. They go about their business, hardly bothering to pay attention to these matters except in passing, or as entertainment. Those that do any more than that have been nearly wiped out by natural selection and survival of the fittest. Humans can mostly be seen in packs, traveling together not because there are animals lurking in the wilderness but because loneliness is lurking in solitude. Strangely, as they love company so, very often they will gather in small, closed groups opening to none but their own. They have many other odd habits, though they have not always been so. But that is not something that most of them know about. Not until a certain meeting, a certain challenge, takes place. The challenge: know truth and accept it. The prize: Life.
It may happen like this.

The small group huddled in a circle, talking about this and that. Little things that had no real meaning. The point was companionship. And then, someone new joined the group. Her difference was easy to see. The skin was what most people noticed first. It was soft and almost smooth, unlike the wrinkled, dry, sun beaten skin the others wore; as if she hardly ever stood under the sun. Her eyes, though, caught their attention next. They were open and alert and did not absorb the light. But she saw better than any of them.
“Good evening, friends.” She greeted, hovering at the edge, waiting.
The two girls in front of her parted, making room in the circle for the newcomer. “Thank you.” She said, and smiled. “It is always nice to find an opening in such a long journey.”
“”A journey?” The man across from her asked. “Then you must have some good stories to tell. We have worn ours out with too much use.”
“I have a story that I think none of you have ever heard.” The newcomer said. “The middle is where I will start, in a beautiful garden full of life and happiness.”
“I want a true story, not a fairy tale!” The girl next to her whined, and shoved the new one roughly.
“But this is true, as true as any story and much truer than most.” Her lightless eyes looked around the circle, and all knew that although she gathered no light to see by, she was far from blind. “We were in the middle, yes? In the garden, where two people lived quite happily. Do not ask me for how long, I do not know. I do not think that time mattered in this garden, or if it even existed there.”
“What is a garden?”
“A place with growing things, and water and rain and a different sun. It was a place of happiness. No fear, no pain, just love and goodness. The sun was warm and gave life. The ground was carpeted by soft grass.” The stranger answered.
Her audience was paying close attention. This was like no story they had ever heard. But as she continued to tell it, some quickly lost interest. Others leaned forward in fascination.

All of the creatures of the earth, not just people, lived there together and they got along without any trouble. And they all got along with the maker. Everything was as it should be. The people lived together and ruled the garden well, tending it and keeping it healthy. The maker of the garden and everything in it gave them only one rule to live by. There was only one thing they could not do. They were not allowed to eat the fruit of a certain tree.
What happens when you do the forbidden?

“Why?” The other little girl asked. “If the garden was healthy, why was some fruit bad?” Her mother shushed her quietly.

They did it because they wanted to be better than him, to be more than they were. They did it out of greed. And they were sent from the garden into a wasteland. Because of what they did, no one can ever go back to the garden. No one, never. All have been banished to the wasteland.

“What is a wasteland?”
“This is a wasteland.” The storyteller gestured around them. “We are in it now, because we make the same choice made by the first two every day, and we cannot escape it. Not without help. We could get out of the wasteland, if we wanted to.”
“How?” The question filled the air, and the heart and mind of all but one present. The one who knew the answer.
The storyteller took a small, cylindrical container from her pocket and opened it. Putting it to her lips, she drank. With a steady hand, she held it out to the astonished people in front of her. “Drink.” Was her answer.

But the maker loved his people still, and so he gave them a second chance, another choice. The wasteland is ruled by the destroyer, the maker’s opposite. He perches on high in the sun and from there makes sure that the land lies forever in ruin. He whispers in the ears of the people, making them believe what he wishes them to. When they ate the fruit and entered the wasteland, they became his by their own choice. But the maker wanted them to choose again. So he wept over the land, shedding tears and putting a part of himself into this place. He pointed the way to a few who were willing to listen, and they have passed it on to us. Take a bit of him into yourself, let him undo what the destroyer has done, and we can escape the wasteland. Drink.

In the wasteland there is no water, there is no wine, there is no liquid except for the pools of it scattered everywhere. No one notices them. The sun that beats down on them through the sky by day and the earth by night tells them with each particle of light that touched their skin that they must not drink. It is forbidden. Everyone knows what will happen if they drink. They will be cast out. Cast out of the group, cast out of the wastelands to wander them and yet not be in them. And one day, they will be taken away and never be able to return to this, the only thing they have ever known.
Drink? What happens when someone is asked to do the forbidden?

The little girl by her side looked up with wide eyes. “Drink? What is that? Isn’t that bad?” Her father puts his arms around her, pulling her away from the dangerous flask.
“There is nothing bad about drinking, only good things.” The strange told her gently. “Look at me. I drink and I am happy and my skin is not withered. Look at the other people, who do not. It tastes good. Wouldn’t you like to drink? Are you thirsty?”
“We are always thirsty.” The girl says. “Does drinking make you not thirsty?” The woman nods. Her father holds her tight, but the girls reaches her head forward and opens her mouth. Water touches her lips, and she smiles. “That is good! Can I have some more?”
The woman smiles. “Of course, there is always plenty. Come with me and I will show you how to find it.” She turns to the group. “Won’t anyone else drink?”
“Why should we? You know as well as we do that it is dangerous! Besides, what you have told us is just a story. Nothing like a garden exists, ever, and you say that the people could not go back! Even if it was real..”
“And why should we believe you?”
The woman closed her eyes for a moment and answered, “Because belief is better than doubt. Can you not see my skin? Here.” She poured a few drops onto the hard, dry ground, forming a pool that reflected the scene above on its surface. “Watch the water.” Many leaned forward some eager, some just mildly curious. Some held back, afraid or defiant. These saw nothing, but those that looked saw something their eyes had never seen before, something never found in the wasteland.

The maker will not let us back into the garden. He is making a new one, without a tree. The choice represented by the tree has already been made. When we get to this garden, we will be there to stay. No more sun and painful light. Water and life will surround us. And love will continue unending.

A few turned away, a few look up, considering. And some of these reached forward for the flask. The woman held it firmly in her hand and looked each one steadily in the eye. “It is addictive. Do not drink lightly, because if you do, you will never be the same again. You know.”
They knew. “But you have drunk, and we can see that what you have, what you have shown us, is better than what we have known.” She nodded and loosened her hold. They drank. Their skin softened slightly. Eyes dimmed. The circle divided in two.
“It is wonderful!” A woman said, licking her lips to get the last drop of moisture. “Where can we get more? How can we find out more?”
“Come, I will show you.” The woman turned and pointed to a small spot on the ground. The people looked at what their eyes had before so readily avoided. Water, fresh and clear and good. They each found a flask, and filled it to keep at their side always. But they could always find another pool, easily.
The little girl looked up at the woman, her friend, and said “But what do we do now?”
“We take a journey. Some people call it life. It is a long journey, and hard. Through the wasteland, which is no longer your home. But it is worth it, because of where we are going.”
“Are we going back to the garden?”
“No, we are going to a better one. This one has no forbidden tree.”
“When will we get there? Will it be soon?”
“We will be there when the maker decides that it is time.”

The same story is happening now, every day. The details are always different. The truth is always the same. The outcome can only go one of two ways.
There is a wasteland where there once was a garden. In it is a pool of water, but all know that the pool is forbidden. It is as the garden was, with forbidden fruit at the center. Why do we not drink of the pool as eagerly as we bit into the fruit?