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Description
The Borderline
By Michael Dewar

Introduction: Hi. There’s two things you kinda need to know before heading into this… first off, the song lyrics below weren’t written by me. They’re from the song Stinkfist from the CD Ænema by the band Tool. But it was this song that pretty much inspired the story, and it was this song that I listened to while writing it. Secondly, it was written entirely in two nights between the hours of 10 PM and 2 AM. It was written one night over the summer, and gone back over for revisions (For the first time) the day before they had to be in for a writing festival. Why? Because I personally think I write and think better as a whole when I’m overtired. And I was tired when I wrote this. So, that said, onwards!

---

Stinkfist

Something has to change
Un-deniable dilemma
Boredom's not a burden
Anyone should bear

Constant over stimulation numbs me
and I would not want you any other way

It's not enough
I need more
Nothing seems to satisfy
I don't want it
I just need it
To feel, to breathe, to know I'm alive

Finger deep within the borderline
Show me that you love me and that we belong together.
Relax, turn around and take my hand…

I can help you change
Tired moments into pleasure
Say the word and we'll be
Well upon our way.

Blend and balance
Pain and comfort
Deep within you

It's not enough
I need more
Nothing seems to satisfy
I don't want it
I just need it
To feel, to breathe, to know I'm alive

Knuckle deep inside the borderline
This may hurt a little but it's something you'll get used to
Relax… Slip away…

Something kinda sad about
the way that things have come to be
Desensitized to everything
What became of subtlety?

How can it mean anything to me
If I really don't feel anything at all?

I'll keep digging till
I feel something

Elbow deep inside the borderline
Show me that you love me
And that we belong together
Shoulder deep within the borderline
Relax. Turn around and take my hand…
Till you will not want me any other way

---

"Jean, come here."
"Hm?"
"Just come here, you've gotta see what I found."
"Alright, gimme a second..."
Michael was sitting, staring down at what should have been nothing more than the ground on the basement floor. But it wasn't. It was shifting. Jean reached the bottom step, took a few more steps, and stopped. He was all hunched over near the wall.
"What?"
"Come here, you have to see this."
She walked over, coming up right next to him as he moved to the side.
"See that? It's shifting."
She stared at it. He was right; it was like a four square inch portion of the floor had become liquid, rippling and moving like a thing alive.
"I was trying to fix the hot water heater, got pissed and threw my hammer, and the spot it hit turned into this. I smacked it a few more times and it gave way... Turning into this."
"That's... odd." Her face seemed to cloud over for a moment. Just a flash, then gone; some instantaneous emotional/mental battle she'd won before anyone knew it'd even started. She managed a rather shaky smile. "What do you think it is?"
"Not sure. I'm gonna mess with it some more."
She frowned, the battle returning; but she won it once more. Still, she seemed a bit worried. "It's probably just some ground water or something... with some cement dust over it... or something. I don't know though. Be careful, whatever it is. I mean, it could be chemicals or something…” She trailed off, though something about her tone suggested that she didn’t fully believe her own words.
He nodded absently, barely paying attention. She left, and he returned his full attention to it. She was only barely intrigued, while he felt, KNEW, that it was significant. Maybe it wasn't a lack of curiosity that kept her away... more a bit of fear. She'd kept it hidden, but he knew her too well... The thoughts flowed out of his consciousness like a leaf in a stream as the spot gave another unbidden, spastic twitch. He hit the area around it a few more times; each time it cracked and crumbled like ice, but instead of revealing something underneath, it just began to ripple anew, just expanding outward to where he'd broken.
An idea occurred to him. He hadn't actually touched the rippling surface with anything but the hammer yet. If it looked like water, maybe... maybe?
He reached out, tentatively, and put his finger to the surface. It gave, swallowing up his finger more and more the more he pushed it in. It seemed to flow up his finger ever so slightly, swallowing it like... he was again struck with the idea that it was alive. It was substanceless, still just like water, only he still knew it wasn't. He stopped pushing at the second knuckle. He had a ripple of alien feelings rip through him at once, suddenly. This was important. This would change him. His fingertip wasn't just below the cement, it was somewhere ELSE. This was...
...Dangerous?
Never. Michael wasn't a quitter, he wasn't one to back down from danger, but he also didn't know when to stop.
Still, he knew he was tired, and he probably wasn't comprehending things right at the time. It was late, he had worked all day on that blasted water boiler.
He headed back upstairs. His finger still had that disembodied feeling to it, but it seemed fine. Too late to bother anyone with something that might well be nothing anyway... but he was lying to himself. He knew it was something, but it was something he wanted for himself, whatever it was.

---

The next morning, he called in sick to work. He hated that damn job... So boring. Office work, stupid stupid office work, day in and day out. Barely any vacation time. He felt like he was beginning to die as a person simply because all he ever did anymore was that damn job. He'd noticed the strained relations with Jean more and more lately, too, even though she worked more hours.
His finger felt a bit cold, sort of numb, but still had full mobility and he could still feel things with it. The hammer was still down there, as was the shifting spot. Everything seemed the same. He knelt down and began thinking. What to do, what to do. It was an oddity, a peculiarity, an irregularity, right there in his basement, right there in his life. Something that intrigued him, something that brought him some form of direction in a life that had otherwise turned into the same day-in day-out tedium that had countless others already in it's grasp; a tedium he's sworn to himself never to fall into.
He did little of interest that day. Random experimentation with measuring the hole, which seemed to have no bottom; a few more attempts to put in his fingertips, though there was a vague uneasiness about putting any more in. He finished the hot water heater, a job which suddenly seemed easier and more interesting than before.
Time seemed confused, that day. What he did felt like it should've taken only a few hours, but before he knew it, Jean was home. And he felt a bizarre impulse to spend some good, quality time with her.

---

Work the next day was interesting. Interesting in the sense that he was completely bored with it and spent the day finding things to do to interest him. All in all it was a completely forgettable day, like the hundreds, thousands, that had gone before.
Back home, the borderline (He'd named it that for some reason, and it had a good ring) still beckoned. He got home and immediately went downstairs, sat down, and stared at it. It had a faintly alluring appearance, somehow; despite looking like little more than a shifting stone, it was something pleasing to the eye. He did nothing for a minute or two, then the curiosity that had been growing for days overcame him. He plunged in, putting all four fingers past the line at once.
The feeling that came needs a little explanation. Imagine, if you will, that right in the middle of a full body massage, you immerse your fingers in a vat of acid. An intense feeling of relaxation, followed by a sudden burst of pain, then a mix of slight pain as your fingers disappear into the acid and slight pleasure as the massage goes on.
This came and died to the mixed pain/pleasure feeling over the course of about one second. You might think that a mix like that would result in just general numbness, but somehow it wasn't. It remained the separate feelings of pain and pleasure in his head without settling to a general numbness. He ripped his fingers out instantly, then examined them. The feeling stayed. He felt... still, a bit cold. But he knew this was changing him somehow. He couldn't even figure out exactly if he liked it or not, the changing or the feeling that wouldn't leave his hand. Either way, it was making him more enthused about everything else in his life... And yet at the same time he was becoming less interested with everything but the borderline itself. He wondered, faintly, what the point was of being interested in everything when he kept all his attention on one single unknown. A variable; the X in the equation that was his life.
He sat down to examine some more. Somehow he was looking at it differently; not as an oddity, but as... maybe as he'd look at someone new he'd just been introduced to. No longer an irregularity, but as something just as intriguing and deep as a person.
"Dinner!"
He headed back up. The borderline sat there, patiently waiting his return, which was by this point inevitable. He knew it was fast becoming too big a part of his life for him to just walk away.

---

He came home from work early on Saturday. He'd decided the night before that he wanted Jean to experience what he'd been experiencing. She seemed a bit hesitant at first (She'd noticed the change in him, and, like him, didn't know what to think about it; some of that hesitant worry from the first night remained), but eventually gave in.
"Come on. It's the most bizarre sensations in the world, and I want you to understand what I'm going through."
Together, they kneeled by the edge. By this time he'd widened it and painted around the edges to pick it out better. There was also a mattress in case anything particularly shocking happened and he needed to lie down.
"Alright. First, take your finger, and put it in up to the second knuckle. Slowly." She looked at him, quiet as always, and then reached out.
Finger entered... and she instantly ripped it out, staring at it.
"Did you feel all those feelings?"
She didn't take her gaze from her finger. "I felt danger... that this is something beyond us." She turned to him. "No... no more. Cover it up." She was always better at picking out those subtleties, those feelings that he missed. Always.
But he shook his head, smiling. "No! You need to feel more. I felt that danger too, but I also feel that there's so much to be gained within this!"
She shook her head, frowning. "Like? I mean, what could possibly be gained from this...? It's... it's a hole!"
"Like, like... I don't know! But it's awakened an interest in me that I just can't describe! I... I... Here, do what I did next. Put all four fingers in, right up to the last knuckle. Like you're gripping the edge of the real ground."
"No!"
He looked at her; she was almost in tears. Yet this extreme fear in her seemed so much more alive to him now than it ever had before. He was so taken by her show of emotion that he had to fight from staring at her face in dumb amazement. "Dear... this is doing something to me, something that could be good or bad but may not be either. I think it's all a matter of trust and faith until something really physical comes from it all."
She looked at her. "Then you finish your experimenting. Leave me out of it."
"Please. Trust me. This next feeling is unlike anything I've ever felt."
She looked at him; the fear still showed plainly on her face. Or was he just picking up on the little, subtle hints that he never had before? "Alright. Because I love you and I trust you wouldn't have me do anything that would be bad for me."
"You know I love you too."
She reached forward... slowly... then did as he said. He realized that he'd closed his eyes when he did it; watching her do it was bizarre, even if he wasn't seeing things in this strange new light. Her face relaxed, then grew immeasurably strained, then went into the same type of expression he imagined he'd had when it died away. However, the whole process seemed to take longer on her.
She tore them out and sat there, eyes closed, saying nothing. After several seconds, she simply ran upstairs.
He sat there for some time, then crawled to the mattress. Why... Why did this not interest her? Why?

---

the next morning he didn't even bother to call into work; just stayed home. he woke up, rolled out of bed, and found himself face to face with the borderline. there it was, in all it's fluid glory. rippling, waving, begging to be experimented with. begging. for some reason, at that moment, he felt a strange feeling that it actually did want him to experiment with him. alive again, as it had been that first night and ever since.
he felt, for a moment, right then, that he could see himself; he was limited, as a person. he was limited to mortal confines, to american views, idealisms; western culture didnt just have an imprint on his brain, western culture -was- his brain. he thought himself open minded, but in reality was just as closed minded as the rest of the human race. and he saw this, he SAW this, all at once; his mind was growing too intelligent for his brain. he had a vague vision of an essence that stretched beyond his physical form, joining with one huge collective consciousness... then it was gone. it was an interesting sensation, but somehow, somehow, he knew that the borderline had something to do with it. the deeper he got into it, the more he... transcended, that was the word.
he moved over to it, more or less crawling, then put in his hand up to the wrist, braced for anything, ready to leave it in without dragging it out instantly.
first came the cold, numbness, cascade of feelings; then came the sensations of pleasure and pain; then was the new, the next, the unexpected.
nothingness.
not just nothing; it wasn't like his hand was in air. it was a void, a complete absence of feeling, different from numbness. it was as though his hand had been removed from his body, along with all sensation of it ever having been there. he tried to move it; it sent signals that told him it was moving, but the feeling of a void remained. it was disconcerting, yet like everything so far it was neither painful nor enjoyable.
he pulled it out slowly, looked at his hand... just a hand, just an extension of flesh and bone and blood extending from his arm. momentarily, it seemed worthless; that he could survive just as well if it were only his brain. he put it right back in.
the void returned.
he slept, that night, with his hand in the void.

---

michael awoke the next morning on the mattress. he had no recollection of moving there. his hand... retained the void feel, just as it had before. he touched the ground, felt it, yet the void remained.
he felt it odd, that he could feel the ground and nothing at the same time. he tried again, felt his other arm, his pants; he felt them all, yet there was nothing else there. he couldn't feel hot, cold, motion, pain, anything, unless that's what he was looking for. he touched the hot water heater at one point, looking to see what the metal would feel like, then, after pulling it away, realized that his skin was beet red. he frowned, turned, and touched it... realizing only then that it was, in fact, the hot water heater, and probably quite incredibly hot. then, he realized that if he concentrated, he could feel the air on his hand as he moved it... but if he was moving it, say, near the heater, he could feel the heat and not the air, or the air and not the heat. each sensation was amplified, yet at the cost of feeling anything else.
he sat down, yet again near the borderline, to think. he practiced changing what he was feeling for quickly, so he could feel things quickly and not seem like a retard or something. he slowly came to the realization, in doing so, that people as a whole rely so very much on what they can touch and feel and not so much on what their mind feels and thinks. it sounded, even to him as he thought it, like something that anyone could tell you, like something right out of buddhism or something, but at the same time he felt the meaning of it. and he didn't mean it the same way; he wasn't talking about his possessions, he meant it more in the actual physical feeling of touch. people tended to like things pleasant to the touch and cared about those more than anything else, like, say, peace of mind.
people led very chaotic lives. the notion occurred to him that his was becoming more orderly even as he plunged into the unknown. the abyss.
suddenly, he knew he wasn't alone.
"michael?"
it was jean, of course.
"yes?"
"What's happened to you?"
he turned, stood, slowly. "i went in up to the wrist last night."
she nodded. "i know. i... watched from the stairs. i wanted to make sure you were alright. after you fell asleep, i dragged you to the mattress, then... i slept on the couch, in case you came upstairs." neither spoke for a moment. "this is consuming you." "i know... but i think i like it."
"like it?? like it how? like it so much you had to sleep down here and couldn't come to bed last night to see how i was?? like it so much you can't even bother to call in to work anymore, leaving me to cover?? last night, i ran because i was afraid. i was scared. not of the hole, but... because i'd said you'd never pressure me into something that would hurt me, and yet you did. i'm scared that you're not grasping the concept that this is dangerous. im scared that i might have felt something you didn't because you didn't want to look for it. michael, i love you and you know that, but this is going too far. you don't even know what it really is you're dealing with, do you? do you??"
he sighed. "i know... i don't. i'm the first to admit that. i don't know what it is, i don't know what it's doing or how it's doing it, i don't know where it's leading. but, jean, i can feel that it's leading somewhere, somewhere important, and that i need to do this. it's just one of those... things!" he growled. "i just can't put it to words, hun!"
he ran the three steps between them and hugged her. he noticed instantly, when his right hand touched her hair, just how soft it was. he'd always loved her hair, and the chance to touch it was always a big part of him hugging her. hence, it was what he first felt for.
"it's... you know i love you. i need this, though. it's... inexplicable."
she finally held him back, nodding slowly. "i know, it's just... it's hard for me to watch you stumble blindly into something that could so utterly change the man i love."
"i know, and i'm sorry... but... the man you love is still here. just... preoccupied." he smiled slightly, and felt her smile too. felt? he noticed this immediately. he was nowhere near her mouth, yet immediately felt slight amusement break from the worry in her. he wondered quickly just how far this selective feeling went.

---

the next morning came quickly. he couldn't remember what had happened after his conversation; dinner, tv, maybe work, who knew. it didn't really matter. the borderline was still there, still calling.
he approached it. he knew what was happening, more or less. he was learning the human follies. he knew the emphasis placed on emotions. he knew the emphasis placed on pain and pleasure. he knew, understood, the void, and at the same time understood the importance of physical feeling and stimulation.
what was left?
he took a deep breath... again... then put in his fingers. hand. then... up to the elbow.
nothing happened.
he gasped, more at the complete lack of a new experience than anything. he pulled out, tried again; the same thing. he shook his head. jean was down there. when did she come? jean was back, she was here, with him. did he scream? he suddenly thought that he did. his mind was acting strangely odd. out of touch. disconnected. didn't matter.
he shook out of her grasp when did she grab him he shook out dove to the border and plunged in again this time up to the shoulder there was nothing nothing no why was the nothing NOTHING where was the new sensations the new enlightenment he needed this, he needed this...
he needed this...
He needed this...
He needed this.
Did he?
He got up and pulled his arm out. The borderline sealed up itself, silently, as his mind did the same. The chaotic influence of the abyss locked itself out of his mind, though the ideas and memories were locked firmly in. He knew he was much more of a complete person now. The only thing to tell that anything physical had happened was the painted line around it. He touched it, once, twice; nothing. Solid. Jean wore a quizzical look.
She kneeled beside him as he appeared to regain some form of composure. "Are you... alright?"
He nodded. "Yeah. It's all over now."
She stared at him a moment longer, glanced once down at the painted spot that had nearly driven him to madness and her to a nervous breakdown. And here he sat like nothing had happened... Yet his face clearly betrayed this. He was fighting internally, arranging the memories in an order and recalling ideas he'd had in the meantime. From time to time he frowned and shook his head. Finally, he looked in her direction, his eyes focusing. He smiled; not an empty smile, not a smile simply meant to calm her or to reassure himself that it was over; a pure, happy, smile. It really was over, she knew, and she realized that if she never spoke of it again, neither would he.
He shook his head. "I... might know." He stood and stretched slightly, being fully upright for the first time in perhaps a day, and put his arm around her. He smiled down into her eyes to alleviate the stress he saw there, losing himself in the bottomless depths for a moment. They were hazel. A deep, rich hazel, almost spiraled with green streaks on a brown backdrop. How could he have not noticed this before?
"It's... the past, already. It's changed me, and nothing we discuss, nothing we debate will change that. So we should leave it in the past, as we should leave everything in the past..."
“But… how exactly did it change you?”
He sighed slightly, still working it out. “…As we’ve gone through the years, we’ve built up defenses against certain things and become unresponsive to things that once gave us great pleasure.” He slid his hand down her hair again, and again he was struck by it’s softness. “It took down those defenses, brought me back to a state where things that once gave me pleasure will make me happy again.”
She nodded, understanding… somewhat. He knew she wouldn’t ever really, because she hadn’t gone in as far as he had… But then, he’d never fully understand either. “But how? What was the borderline?”
“I’m not sure it really mattered that it took a physical form… Just that it was here, it happened, that’s what really counts. Not what it was.” He held her, the feel of her body against his own making him immeasurably calm. “Common. I want to rediscover the world…” They went upstairs.
X = 2... He smiled. The equation of his life was complete, and for all the confusion the variable had caused him, it simply brought him forward.

Description
The Borderline
By Michael Dewar

Introduction: Hi. There’s two things you kinda need to know before heading into this… first off, the song lyrics below weren’t written by me. They’re from the song Stinkfist from the CD Ænema by the band Tool. But it was this song that pretty much inspired the story, and it was this song that I listened to while writing it. Secondly, it was written entirely in two nights between the hours of 10 PM and 2 AM. It was written one night over the summer, and gone back over for revisions (For the first time) the day before they had to be in for a writing festival. Why? Because I personally think I write and think better as a whole when I’m overtired. And I was tired when I wrote this. So, that said, onwards!

---

Stinkfist

Something has to change
Un-deniable dilemma
Boredom's not a burden
Anyone should bear

Constant over stimulation numbs me
and I would not want you any other way

It's not enough
I need more
Nothing seems to satisfy
I don't want it
I just need it
To feel, to breathe, to know I'm alive

Finger deep within the borderline
Show me that you love me and that we belong together.
Relax, turn around and take my hand…

I can help you change
Tired moments into pleasure
Say the word and we'll be
Well upon our way.

Blend and balance
Pain and comfort
Deep within you

It's not enough
I need more
Nothing seems to satisfy
I don't want it
I just need it
To feel, to breathe, to know I'm alive

Knuckle deep inside the borderline
This may hurt a little but it's something you'll get used to
Relax… Slip away…

Something kinda sad about
the way that things have come to be
Desensitized to everything
What became of subtlety?

How can it mean anything to me
If I really don't feel anything at all?

I'll keep digging till
I feel something

Elbow deep inside the borderline
Show me that you love me
And that we belong together
Shoulder deep within the borderline
Relax. Turn around and take my hand…
Till you will not want me any other way

---

"Jean, come here."
"Hm?"
"Just come here, you've gotta see what I found."
"Alright, gimme a second..."
Michael was sitting, staring down at what should have been nothing more than the ground on the basement floor. But it wasn't. It was shifting. Jean reached the bottom step, took a few more steps, and stopped. He was all hunched over near the wall.
"What?"
"Come here, you have to see this."
She walked over, coming up right next to him as he moved to the side.
"See that? It's shifting."
She stared at it. He was right; it was like a four square inch portion of the floor had become liquid, rippling and moving like a thing alive.
"I was trying to fix the hot water heater, got pissed and threw my hammer, and the spot it hit turned into this. I smacked it a few more times and it gave way... Turning into this."
"That's... odd." Her face seemed to cloud over for a moment. Just a flash, then gone; some instantaneous emotional/mental battle she'd won before anyone knew it'd even started. She managed a rather shaky smile. "What do you think it is?"
"Not sure. I'm gonna mess with it some more."
She frowned, the battle returning; but she won it once more. Still, she seemed a bit worried. "It's probably just some ground water or something... with some cement dust over it... or something. I don't know though. Be careful, whatever it is. I mean, it could be chemicals or something…” She trailed off, though something about her tone suggested that she didn’t fully believe her own words.
He nodded absently, barely paying attention. She left, and he returned his full attention to it. She was only barely intrigued, while he felt, KNEW, that it was significant. Maybe it wasn't a lack of curiosity that kept her away... more a bit of fear. She'd kept it hidden, but he knew her too well... The thoughts flowed out of his consciousness like a leaf in a stream as the spot gave another unbidden, spastic twitch. He hit the area around it a few more times; each time it cracked and crumbled like ice, but instead of revealing something underneath, it just began to ripple anew, just expanding outward to where he'd broken.
An idea occurred to him. He hadn't actually touched the rippling surface with anything but the hammer yet. If it looked like water, maybe... maybe?
He reached out, tentatively, and put his finger to the surface. It gave, swallowing up his finger more and more the more he pushed it in. It seemed to flow up his finger ever so slightly, swallowing it like... he was again struck with the idea that it was alive. It was substanceless, still just like water, only he still knew it wasn't. He stopped pushing at the second knuckle. He had a ripple of alien feelings rip through him at once, suddenly. This was important. This would change him. His fingertip wasn't just below the cement, it was somewhere ELSE. This was...
...Dangerous?
Never. Michael wasn't a quitter, he wasn't one to back down from danger, but he also didn't know when to stop.
Still, he knew he was tired, and he probably wasn't comprehending things right at the time. It was late, he had worked all day on that blasted water boiler.
He headed back upstairs. His finger still had that disembodied feeling to it, but it seemed fine. Too late to bother anyone with something that might well be nothing anyway... but he was lying to himself. He knew it was something, but it was something he wanted for himself, whatever it was.

---

The next morning, he called in sick to work. He hated that damn job... So boring. Office work, stupid stupid office work, day in and day out. Barely any vacation time. He felt like he was beginning to die as a person simply because all he ever did anymore was that damn job. He'd noticed the strained relations with Jean more and more lately, too, even though she worked more hours.
His finger felt a bit cold, sort of numb, but still had full mobility and he could still feel things with it. The hammer was still down there, as was the shifting spot. Everything seemed the same. He knelt down and began thinking. What to do, what to do. It was an oddity, a peculiarity, an irregularity, right there in his basement, right there in his life. Something that intrigued him, something that brought him some form of direction in a life that had otherwise turned into the same day-in day-out tedium that had countless others already in it's grasp; a tedium he's sworn to himself never to fall into.
He did little of interest that day. Random experimentation with measuring the hole, which seemed to have no bottom; a few more attempts to put in his fingertips, though there was a vague uneasiness about putting any more in. He finished the hot water heater, a job which suddenly seemed easier and more interesting than before.
Time seemed confused, that day. What he did felt like it should've taken only a few hours, but before he knew it, Jean was home. And he felt a bizarre impulse to spend some good, quality time with her.

---

Work the next day was interesting. Interesting in the sense that he was completely bored with it and spent the day finding things to do to interest him. All in all it was a completely forgettable day, like the hundreds, thousands, that had gone before.
Back home, the borderline (He'd named it that for some reason, and it had a good ring) still beckoned. He got home and immediately went downstairs, sat down, and stared at it. It had a faintly alluring appearance, somehow; despite looking like little more than a shifting stone, it was something pleasing to the eye. He did nothing for a minute or two, then the curiosity that had been growing for days overcame him. He plunged in, putting all four fingers past the line at once.
The feeling that came needs a little explanation. Imagine, if you will, that right in the middle of a full body massage, you immerse your fingers in a vat of acid. An intense feeling of relaxation, followed by a sudden burst of pain, then a mix of slight pain as your fingers disappear into the acid and slight pleasure as the massage goes on.
This came and died to the mixed pain/pleasure feeling over the course of about one second. You might think that a mix like that would result in just general numbness, but somehow it wasn't. It remained the separate feelings of pain and pleasure in his head without settling to a general numbness. He ripped his fingers out instantly, then examined them. The feeling stayed. He felt... still, a bit cold. But he knew this was changing him somehow. He couldn't even figure out exactly if he liked it or not, the changing or the feeling that wouldn't leave his hand. Either way, it was making him more enthused about everything else in his life... And yet at the same time he was becoming less interested with everything but the borderline itself. He wondered, faintly, what the point was of being interested in everything when he kept all his attention on one single unknown. A variable; the X in the equation that was his life.
He sat down to examine some more. Somehow he was looking at it differently; not as an oddity, but as... maybe as he'd look at someone new he'd just been introduced to. No longer an irregularity, but as something just as intriguing and deep as a person.
"Dinner!"
He headed back up. The borderline sat there, patiently waiting his return, which was by this point inevitable. He knew it was fast becoming too big a part of his life for him to just walk away.

---

He came home from work early on Saturday. He'd decided the night before that he wanted Jean to experience what he'd been experiencing. She seemed a bit hesitant at first (She'd noticed the change in him, and, like him, didn't know what to think about it; some of that hesitant worry from the first night remained), but eventually gave in.
"Come on. It's the most bizarre sensations in the world, and I want you to understand what I'm going through."
Together, they kneeled by the edge. By this time he'd widened it and painted around the edges to pick it out better. There was also a mattress in case anything particularly shocking happened and he needed to lie down.
"Alright. First, take your finger, and put it in up to the second knuckle. Slowly." She looked at him, quiet as always, and then reached out.
Finger entered... and she instantly ripped it out, staring at it.
"Did you feel all those feelings?"
She didn't take her gaze from her finger. "I felt danger... that this is something beyond us." She turned to him. "No... no more. Cover it up." She was always better at picking out those subtleties, those feelings that he missed. Always.
But he shook his head, smiling. "No! You need to feel more. I felt that danger too, but I also feel that there's so much to be gained within this!"
She shook her head, frowning. "Like? I mean, what could possibly be gained from this...? It's... it's a hole!"
"Like, like... I don't know! But it's awakened an interest in me that I just can't describe! I... I... Here, do what I did next. Put all four fingers in, right up to the last knuckle. Like you're gripping the edge of the real ground."
"No!"
He looked at her; she was almost in tears. Yet this extreme fear in her seemed so much more alive to him now than it ever had before. He was so taken by her show of emotion that he had to fight from staring at her face in dumb amazement. "Dear... this is doing something to me, something that could be good or bad but may not be either. I think it's all a matter of trust and faith until something really physical comes from it all."
She looked at her. "Then you finish your experimenting. Leave me out of it."
"Please. Trust me. This next feeling is unlike anything I've ever felt."
She looked at him; the fear still showed plainly on her face. Or was he just picking up on the little, subtle hints that he never had before? "Alright. Because I love you and I trust you wouldn't have me do anything that would be bad for me."
"You know I love you too."
She reached forward... slowly... then did as he said. He realized that he'd closed his eyes when he did it; watching her do it was bizarre, even if he wasn't seeing things in this strange new light. Her face relaxed, then grew immeasurably strained, then went into the same type of expression he imagined he'd had when it died away. However, the whole process seemed to take longer on her.
She tore them out and sat there, eyes closed, saying nothing. After several seconds, she simply ran upstairs.
He sat there for some time, then crawled to the mattress. Why... Why did this not interest her? Why?

---

the next morning he didn't even bother to call into work; just stayed home. he woke up, rolled out of bed, and found himself face to face with the borderline. there it was, in all it's fluid glory. rippling, waving, begging to be experimented with. begging. for some reason, at that moment, he felt a strange feeling that it actually did want him to experiment with him. alive again, as it had been that first night and ever since.
he felt, for a moment, right then, that he could see himself; he was limited, as a person. he was limited to mortal confines, to american views, idealisms; western culture didnt just have an imprint on his brain, western culture -was- his brain. he thought himself open minded, but in reality was just as closed minded as the rest of the human race. and he saw this, he SAW this, all at once; his mind was growing too intelligent for his brain. he had a vague vision of an essence that stretched beyond his physical form, joining with one huge collective consciousness... then it was gone. it was an interesting sensation, but somehow, somehow, he knew that the borderline had something to do with it. the deeper he got into it, the more he... transcended, that was the word.
he moved over to it, more or less crawling, then put in his hand up to the wrist, braced for anything, ready to leave it in without dragging it out instantly.
first came the cold, numbness, cascade of feelings; then came the sensations of pleasure and pain; then was the new, the next, the unexpected.
nothingness.
not just nothing; it wasn't like his hand was in air. it was a void, a complete absence of feeling, different from numbness. it was as though his hand had been removed from his body, along with all sensation of it ever having been there. he tried to move it; it sent signals that told him it was moving, but the feeling of a void remained. it was disconcerting, yet like everything so far it was neither painful nor enjoyable.
he pulled it out slowly, looked at his hand... just a hand, just an extension of flesh and bone and blood extending from his arm. momentarily, it seemed worthless; that he could survive just as well if it were only his brain. he put it right back in.
the void returned.
he slept, that night, with his hand in the void.

---

michael awoke the next morning on the mattress. he had no recollection of moving there. his hand... retained the void feel, just as it had before. he touched the ground, felt it, yet the void remained.
he felt it odd, that he could feel the ground and nothing at the same time. he tried again, felt his other arm, his pants; he felt them all, yet there was nothing else there. he couldn't feel hot, cold, motion, pain, anything, unless that's what he was looking for. he touched the hot water heater at one point, looking to see what the metal would feel like, then, after pulling it away, realized that his skin was beet red. he frowned, turned, and touched it... realizing only then that it was, in fact, the hot water heater, and probably quite incredibly hot. then, he realized that if he concentrated, he could feel the air on his hand as he moved it... but if he was moving it, say, near the heater, he could feel the heat and not the air, or the air and not the heat. each sensation was amplified, yet at the cost of feeling anything else.
he sat down, yet again near the borderline, to think. he practiced changing what he was feeling for quickly, so he could feel things quickly and not seem like a retard or something. he slowly came to the realization, in doing so, that people as a whole rely so very much on what they can touch and feel and not so much on what their mind feels and thinks. it sounded, even to him as he thought it, like something that anyone could tell you, like something right out of buddhism or something, but at the same time he felt the meaning of it. and he didn't mean it the same way; he wasn't talking about his possessions, he meant it more in the actual physical feeling of touch. people tended to like things pleasant to the touch and cared about those more than anything else, like, say, peace of mind.
people led very chaotic lives. the notion occurred to him that his was becoming more orderly even as he plunged into the unknown. the abyss.
suddenly, he knew he wasn't alone.
"michael?"
it was jean, of course.
"yes?"
"What's happened to you?"
he turned, stood, slowly. "i went in up to the wrist last night."
she nodded. "i know. i... watched from the stairs. i wanted to make sure you were alright. after you fell asleep, i dragged you to the mattress, then... i slept on the couch, in case you came upstairs." neither spoke for a moment. "this is consuming you." "i know... but i think i like it."
"like it?? like it how? like it so much you had to sleep down here and couldn't come to bed last night to see how i was?? like it so much you can't even bother to call in to work anymore, leaving me to cover?? last night, i ran because i was afraid. i was scared. not of the hole, but... because i'd said you'd never pressure me into something that would hurt me, and yet you did. i'm scared that you're not grasping the concept that this is dangerous. im scared that i might have felt something you didn't because you didn't want to look for it. michael, i love you and you know that, but this is going too far. you don't even know what it really is you're dealing with, do you? do you??"
he sighed. "i know... i don't. i'm the first to admit that. i don't know what it is, i don't know what it's doing or how it's doing it, i don't know where it's leading. but, jean, i can feel that it's leading somewhere, somewhere important, and that i need to do this. it's just one of those... things!" he growled. "i just can't put it to words, hun!"
he ran the three steps between them and hugged her. he noticed instantly, when his right hand touched her hair, just how soft it was. he'd always loved her hair, and the chance to touch it was always a big part of him hugging her. hence, it was what he first felt for.
"it's... you know i love you. i need this, though. it's... inexplicable."
she finally held him back, nodding slowly. "i know, it's just... it's hard for me to watch you stumble blindly into something that could so utterly change the man i love."
"i know, and i'm sorry... but... the man you love is still here. just... preoccupied." he smiled slightly, and felt her smile too. felt? he noticed this immediately. he was nowhere near her mouth, yet immediately felt slight amusement break from the worry in her. he wondered quickly just how far this selective feeling went.

---

the next morning came quickly. he couldn't remember what had happened after his conversation; dinner, tv, maybe work, who knew. it didn't really matter. the borderline was still there, still calling.
he approached it. he knew what was happening, more or less. he was learning the human follies. he knew the emphasis placed on emotions. he knew the emphasis placed on pain and pleasure. he knew, understood, the void, and at the same time understood the importance of physical feeling and stimulation.
what was left?
he took a deep breath... again... then put in his fingers. hand. then... up to the elbow.
nothing happened.
he gasped, more at the complete lack of a new experience than anything. he pulled out, tried again; the same thing. he shook his head. jean was down there. when did she come? jean was back, she was here, with him. did he scream? he suddenly thought that he did. his mind was acting strangely odd. out of touch. disconnected. didn't matter.
he shook out of her grasp when did she grab him he shook out dove to the border and plunged in again this time up to the shoulder there was nothing nothing no why was the nothing NOTHING where was the new sensations the new enlightenment he needed this, he needed this...
he needed this...
He needed this...
He needed this.
Did he?
He got up and pulled his arm out. The borderline sealed up itself, silently, as his mind did the same. The chaotic influence of the abyss locked itself out of his mind, though the ideas and memories were locked firmly in. He knew he was much more of a complete person now. The only thing to tell that anything physical had happened was the painted line around it. He touched it, once, twice; nothing. Solid. Jean wore a quizzical look.
She kneeled beside him as he appeared to regain some form of composure. "Are you... alright?"
He nodded. "Yeah. It's all over now."
She stared at him a moment longer, glanced once down at the painted spot that had nearly driven him to madness and her to a nervous breakdown. And here he sat like nothing had happened... Yet his face clearly betrayed this. He was fighting internally, arranging the memories in an order and recalling ideas he'd had in the meantime. From time to time he frowned and shook his head. Finally, he looked in her direction, his eyes focusing. He smiled; not an empty smile, not a smile simply meant to calm her or to reassure himself that it was over; a pure, happy, smile. It really was over, she knew, and she realized that if she never spoke of it again, neither would he.
He shook his head. "I... might know." He stood and stretched slightly, being fully upright for the first time in perhaps a day, and put his arm around her. He smiled down into her eyes to alleviate the stress he saw there, losing himself in the bottomless depths for a moment. They were hazel. A deep, rich hazel, almost spiraled with green streaks on a brown backdrop. How could he have not noticed this before?
"It's... the past, already. It's changed me, and nothing we discuss, nothing we debate will change that. So we should leave it in the past, as we should leave everything in the past..."
“But… how exactly did it change you?”
He sighed slightly, still working it out. “…As we’ve gone through the years, we’ve built up defenses against certain things and become unresponsive to things that once gave us great pleasure.” He slid his hand down her hair again, and again he was struck by it’s softness. “It took down those defenses, brought me back to a state where things that once gave me pleasure will make me happy again.”
She nodded, understanding… somewhat. He knew she wouldn’t ever really, because she hadn’t gone in as far as he had… But then, he’d never fully understand either. “But how? What was the borderline?”
“I’m not sure it really mattered that it took a physical form… Just that it was here, it happened, that’s what really counts. Not what it was.” He held her, the feel of her body against his own making him immeasurably calm. “Common. I want to rediscover the world…” They went upstairs.
X = 2... He smiled. The equation of his life was complete, and for all the confusion the variable had caused him, it simply brought him forward.