Endless Summer

Derek opens the heart shaped locket and spits into it.  His reaction is so forceful, spray hits me in the face.  ‘Oh!’ I exclaim, taking a step backward.  He closes the locket and saliva oozes out the sides, dripping to the floor. There is no shame on his furious face as he dangles the token of love between us.  He yells with an intensity that turns his face red. ‘That is exactly what you did to me!’ 

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For a moment, I’m too stunned to respond.  What does Derek expect me to do?  Take that locket back?  ‘That’s disgusting!  You’re an animal,’ I say, with as much distain as I can muster.

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‘I’m an animal?  You’re the one that goes around humping everyone you can,’ he snarls, flinging the locket at my chest. It hits me hard, leaving a wet mark on my dress before falling to the ground. I kick it toward him. ‘I don’t want it.  I always thought it was old fashioned and ugly.’  I meet his glare head-on. ‘Like you.’

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Derek clenches his fists and for one awful moment it looks like he might hit me, but then he turns and walks out the door, slamming it behind him.

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‘And…cut! You nailed it!’ Stimp cheers and everyone on set relaxes. When the scenes don’t have enough emotional authenticity, he goes on for ages – which would be alright if we were paid hourly, but we’re not.  Plus, I’m not keen to be around anymore of Christian’s spit. Since the plague, I’m something of a germophobe and this scene nearly pushed me over the edge.

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‘I have to shower,’ I state.  ‘That saliva feels toxic.’  A few people murmur in agreement and I make my way off set and head to the dressing rooms.  I’m weary of playing Cienna.   She’s a popular character on the long running soap opera I act for, but frankly, I’d be glad if they killed her off.  At this point, Endless Summer feels more like endless torture

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‘Mind if I join you?’ I turn to see that Christian has followed me into the shower. I shrug, because it’s not like anything can happen. We’ve both been neutralized. 

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‘Even my own saliva freaks me out,’ Christian admits, peeling off his clothing. I try not to stare when he tosses his trousers to the side, revealing the angry red scar that marks the absence of his genitalia.   I guess he does the same when I take off my own clothes, but I try not to be ashamed. It’s not our fault we’re like this. While the new world is eager to consume soap operas that portray our former ways of living, this desexing is in fact, reality for all of us. 

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The latest pandemic was unlike any other virus to terrorise humanity.  It was literally alien, and with unprecedented madness, it decimated the population by becoming the population. 

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The Kolasi was bought to Earth by astronauts returning from Mars; an alien microbe existing undetected. It was transmitted by saliva with an efficiency that surpassed even COVID 19.  It wasn’t until the first babies arrived, that we discovered our bodies had been used as vessels for alien procreation.  Stealth bacteria had twisted into sperm and ovaries, distorting the cells of our foetuses, and transforming human offspring into children from hell.  Red like the planet they originated from.  Red like the blood they drank.  Red like the fire that killed them.

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We didn’t have the technology to deal with the virus and Kolasi rapidly spread to nearly every human on the planet. For each hell child born, hundreds of us were slain – sometimes, thousands. The little ones were ravenous, growing quickly to maturity on human flesh.  Of course, it was always the mother who died first.

 

‘You’re thinking about them, aren’t you?’ Christian asks and I turn my face into the water so he can’t see my tears. We all remember the hell children.  The memories make our neutralisation feel like a relief.

‘Now I’ve messed up my makeup,’ I groan, coming out of the water.  I don’t know why I bothered trying to hide my emotions from Christian.  He’s experienced my full arsenal – on and off set. ‘We’ve still got three more shows to shoot before we’re done,’ he remarks, pushing his own face under the jets.  ‘We should freshen up anyway.’

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As we reach for the soap at the same time, we bump against each other, but our easy companionship makes the contact feel natural. I think about how far humanity has come since neutralization was introduced. After the arrival of the Kolasi, humans were banned from engaging in physical contact. What just happened between Christian and I, would have been breaking the rules. In the end, disfigurement resulting in impenetrability became a necessity to save ourselves from sure extinction. Humans just couldn’t adhere to the personal distance directives. We were collectively unable to deny ourselves connection and fulfillment of desire.

 

Birth control had no impact upon the alien cells and barrier methods were also useless. Any sexual contact between two people resulted in a hell child. This persistent, alien biology didn’t recognise sexual orientations and although less common, even men birthed the strange demons. The Kolasi only required development in different hosts. It seems diversity strengthened it. 

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I turn off the water and step out of the shower. ‘What’s the next scene?’ I ask, reaching for a fluffy towel. 

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‘Derek returns to get the locket back – it was his Mothers, remember?’ 

 

I nod, vaguely remembering our preseason briefing.  ‘He finds Cianna crying, and it melts his heart.  She feels terrible for cheating on him.’

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‘Huh, no she doesn’t,’ I remark.  ‘She’s such a heartless cow.’ 

 

I lean close to the mirror and apply thick layers of concealer on the dark shadows under my eyes.  ‘What does Cianna really want?  She’s got to be manipulating him.’

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Christian shrugs.  ‘It’s not what Cianna wants, it’s what the audience needs to see…right?’

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‘Yeah, right,’ I admit. There are so many weak moments in our scenes that it hurts my head to think about them. I don’t know why I bother analysing what these fictional characters do and feel.  Everything we do is merely for entertainment.  It’s all for shock value and titillation.  ‘So, what happens after Derek gets seduced by Cianna’s tears?’

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‘Well, they make up and…well, you know...’  Christian grins at me.  ‘There’s a love scene, and then Daven walks in and sees them and…’

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‘It all starts again,’ I moan, slathering on foundation. 

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‘At least there’s no death.  We’ve all had enough of that,’ Christian announces, starting on his own makeup.

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I think of the real world—of the hell children’s eradication and the birth of our first lab-grown babies. These precious children have been made from eggs fertilised and frozen prior to the emergence of the virus.  When fashioning this new generation, the geneticists had compassion.  These new children have been sexually modified to be genderless.  They will never know another form but that which they are and never yearn for physical intimacy. 

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‘Do you think the next gen will watch Endless Summer?’ I ask, thinking of their engineered absence of need.  Desire is after all, the basis of our entire show, simmering beneath the surface of every scene.  Christian pulls a face. 

 

‘Nope.  They’ll be no love left in the world.  We’re capturing the final remnants of it.  Endless Summer, is love’s curtain call.’

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‘How depressing. The show might rate as a documentary.’

 

I look at Christian in the mirror and something unspoken passes between us.  I realise I love him and maybe, he loves me too, and it’s got nothing to do with our body parts or hormones. ‘You know, I think the next generation will love.  It’ll just be in a purer way then we ever have.  All heart and soul connection.’

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Christian raises an eyebrow.  He really misses physical love.  Our pretend make out sessions on film are the closest thing he can get to the hazy memories he carries of sex from adolescence. I think of the other expressions of love I saw during the time of killing.  People sacrificing themselves so their loved ones could escape; the love exemplified by our own neutralization.  It seems to me, that the body is divorced from the higher forms of love making.

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Things suddenly feel very serious. ‘You know, we’re lucky we get to do this. It’s…fun,’ he says. 

Christian and I lock eyes for what we like to call, ‘an extended non-verbal exchange’, on set.  However, this isn’t the way that Derek and Cianna stare at one another.  This feels very deep. I reach out and take Christian’s hand and he steps forward and pulls me to his chest.

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We stay like that for a long time, his hands stroking my back. I pull away and take a breath and say what I want, because I’ve learnt that every moment is precious and that every opportunity should be taken. ‘We’re lucky we never met before we were neutralized. We would have killed one another.’

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Christian’s hand lingers, his thumb grazing my skin like he’s memorizing it. Then, like a curtain dropping, he pulls away. The shift is instant. The warmth vanishes. He raises an eyebrow — Derek’s eyebrow. When he speaks, his voice isn’t his own. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t die for anyone.’