And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide

In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.

There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.

It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.

Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway….

"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it simply wants to win,
And to just take over me.

"Have a purpose, bend the world,
Act out upon your wishes, and ______ will love you a lot"
That's what light then says to me,
Because it wants to set me free.
Winning slightly over me.

"But this cage of gold so shiny, it will shield you from untrue
And protect you from the odd,
Nothing inside its walls can harm you,
In your own little world!"
Whispers darkness in my ear,
"Only me you should now hear,
And with me you will survive,
And with my help you will strive,
And achieve your paradise,
In illusion's disguise!
With no hardships and no pain,
Every task you will then tame!"

The light sternly yells at me:
"These are lies as they can be!
If your world is built on lies,
Then yourself you will despise.
And illusion's paradise,
Will fall down on you.
Crashing, burning, dying, crying are your dreams
And uprooted is your tree!
And no longer will you see
Where to go or what to be!
When you face your final trial, what will the judge say to thee?"

"These are lies and mere dogma,
Based upon the fear of death!"
Darkness then just yells at me:
"You have your right to disagree!
Make a lovely pact with me.
I will offer you salvation,
No more fear or deprivation!
If you would me then just hear,
You have nothing at all to fear.
Since we do not have a soul.
There's nothing with which to pay a toll!
Sign here, over there.
In the name of pleasure and hope.
In the name of revolution,
Let your path be just a gentle slope!"

I’m a taker-receiver
I always get what I take
You only take what they leave you
You get nothing if you keep that rate

I’m a sayer-repeater
I’ll suck the time from your eyes
While you follow the leader
I’ll take your soul
And your merchandise

The December wind wrapped itself around the two as they briskly made their way down the crowded sidewalk. They didn't mind the cold all too much for their sheer excitement kept them warm. A mother and a son had traversed into the Inner Sanctum of the Main City to prepare for the festivities. It was the 20th, and on the 21st a world-wide celebration would ring out in glory of their leader's name and birthday. It wasn't just a celebration for him, as on the 21st everyone shared in on the gift giving and good will spreading amongst their friends and loved ones. The mother and son, however, had missed out on their shopping and were forced to rush and see what they could get the night before.

Every corner they turned and every step they took left them visually bombarded with fantastic, glowing displays of old time toys and new wave technology. Adding to the light were the countless souls that hung high in the sky: small blue and orange orbs of life that floated lazily up to their judgment. Waves of people passed them by, either dressed extravagantly in the season's colors of gold and red, or clad in black and white attire. Compared to everyone else, the mother and son looked rather mediocre. They shared the same raven-black hair, though hers fell in loose curls and his in choppy waves, and they both had stunning yellow eyes that seemed to carry a light of their own, even amidst the shops' glow. Warmly snug in simple coats and boots and maroon-colored scarves, the two often whispered and laughed to each other at how strange just some of these demons' fashion senses were.

They walked and they walked, stopping at store front and store front, peeking in every so often, until his mother wore three bags on her arm -- two on her left and one on her right. He carried a bag himself, all of them holding trinkets, ornaments and gifts for their extended family. The night was still young and the two decided to sight-see for just a little longer. After all, this was their first trip into the Inner Sanctum. For most of their needs, they went to facilities located in the Seven Providences, as the Inner Sanctum was much too long of a trip to take.

When I was seven, I was diagnosed with emotions.

“Poor girl.’I heard them say. “She’ll never survive this one.”

I laid with my face towards the ceiling on the cold examination table, listening to them discuss my fate. I felt something breaking in my chest and something burning inside my throat. A small tear slipped down my cheek.

“Doctor! Look at this!’Shrieked my mother, “Something is coming out of her eye.”

The doctor rushed over to me and wiped the tear from my cheek. He touched the top of my head as he whispered, “I am so sorry.’And then he turned to my mother. “It’s a tear. It means that she is sad.”

“Sad?’My mother asked inquisitively.

“It’s one of her emotions. This doesn’t attack the same way that normal diseases do, there are all sorts of different symptoms. Right now, she is sad and the only way that I know how to explain it is that she is feeling down.”

“What do you mean by down?"

“Her emotions can best be described as ones that are up—when she is feeling good, and ones that are down—when she is feeling bad. Right now she is feeling sad, which is a down emotion. If you need to understand her, ask her if she is feeling up or down. That’s all
I know how to tell you.”

“Will it kill her, doctor?"

He was silent. “Doctor?’She persisted.

“I don’t know. She’s got her heart on her sleeve, and that makes her vulnerable.”

My mother took a step back.

“I truly am sorry.’Said the doctor.

~

I was fifteen when I felt love for the first time. There was a boy, I don’t even remember his name, but he used to walk me home after school, and then one day he stopped. When I asked him why, he told me that he simply didn’t want to anymore and that it was out of his way and illogical.

I went home and curled up on my couch.

“Are you feeling up or down today?’Asked my mother.

“I don’t know.’I said. “Both.”

My mother took me to see the doctor again. He asked me how I was feeling. I told him that I felt something ripping at my chest and pounding in my stomach when I looked at the boy. I told him that I liked the way that I was feeling, but at the same time, I wanted it to stop.

He listened attentively. “Honey, I think you feeling the beginnings of love. It’s an emotion, but you can’t quite categorize it as up or down. And I’m sorry, but it will only get worse as you get older.”

The doctor handed me tissues as he waited for me to regain my composure before he took me back to my mother. He told her that we had sorted things out and that if we ever needed to see him again, all that we had to do was call.

And then he turned to me. “Just keep your head up, it will all turn out fine.’He gave me a friendly wink and my mother took me back home.

~

It was years before I saw the doctor again. I had experienced bouts of love, anger, and even happiness. But it was none of these that drew me to him again—it was listlessness. I was twenty-seven years old when I sat in the doctor’s office once again.

He handed me a mug of tea and we had a little chat.

“What seems to be bothering you?"

“I don’t know, doctor. I’ve become bored with everything. I get up, go to work, come home, sleep, repeat. Day in, day out. What else is there to be done?’I asked. “What does everyone else do every day?"

“They do the same things that you do.’His eyes fixed on mine. “The exact same, monotonous thing, we all do.”

“But why?’I pressed.

“I don’t know.’He said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s what we’ve been taught to do for all of our lives. It doesn’t bother anyone else—"

“Because you can’t feel.’I said finishing his thought.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what sorts of things do you feel?"  He asked.

I sighed and sat up in my chair.

“Go on.’He urged.

“It’s awful, doctor.”  I said, my voice cracking, “I start caring about someone or something, my heart breaks and then I repeat the cycle. I don’t know how to stop it.”

The doctor closed his eyes as if remembering.

“And what does it feel like? What do you do?"

“At first, it’s wonderful, I feel up, like I am pumping sunshine through my veins instead of blood, but then it feels sad, like my heart has shattered, and like glass, it can never truly be whole again.”

He opened his eyes and began to speak. “I’m sorry, but I think you know what I am about to say.”

I shook my head through tears in my eyes. “No…no.”

He looked directly into my eyes as he said, “I’m sorry, but no one will ever be able to feel the way you feel about them.”

I covered my mouth with my palm and let out a sob-like breath. “I know. I’ve always known, I just have been afraid to say it out loud.”

“I really am sorry. You are a strange case dear. It’s very surprising that you have survived to this point, most die young or are driven insane.”

“And there is nothing you can do about it?"

He looked at the floor. “Nothing.”

I saw the look on his face. “You’re lying.’I sneered.

“Yes,’he said looking up me again. “But I won’t do it.”

“Why?’I asked, my voice cracking as my heart pushed into my throat.

He shook his head.

“What makes you qualified to make this decision for me?’I asked through gritted teeth.

“Because I am not going to allow you to do this. Don’t you see? You have so much, all the feelings that have been lost over time. You may not realize it now, but I am begging you to think about it.”

There was no point in attempting to hide the tears at this point. “There is something you aren’t telling me doctor.’I exhaled between fits of sobs. “What is it?"

He shook his head and whispered, “Please.”

I stood up and grabbed my belongings. “Goodbye doctor.”

~

I have been emotion-free for thirteen years now. I get up to work, come home, sleep, and do it all again the next day. I am married to a nice man. We talk about our days at work while I cook dinner and he reads the newspaper. We considered children at one point, but it’s too late now.

I haven’t seen the doctor since I stormed out of his office that day years ago. He would be disappointed with my choice. I think I know what he was talking about all those years ago when he tried to warn me against leaving, I think he knew what this was like—the expectations, the almosts.

The expectation to feel something when my husband kisses me goodnight. The expectation to feel something when winter blows over the world. The almost feeling I get when my mother calls and I am reminded that I haven’t seen her in months. The almost feeling I get when I remember the doctor and realize that I left the one person who could almost love me.

And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide

In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.

There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.

It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.

Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway….

"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it simply wants to win,
And to just take over me.

"Have a purpose, bend the world,
Act out upon your wishes, and ______ will love you a lot"
That's what light then says to me,
Because it wants to set me free.
Winning slightly over me.

"But this cage of gold so shiny, it will shield you from untrue
And protect you from the odd,
Nothing inside its walls can harm you,
In your own little world!"
Whispers darkness in my ear,
"Only me you should now hear,
And with me you will survive,
And with my help you will strive,
And achieve your paradise,
In illusion's disguise!
With no hardships and no pain,
Every task you will then tame!"

The light sternly yells at me:
"These are lies as they can be!
If your world is built on lies,
Then yourself you will despise.
And illusion's paradise,
Will fall down on you.
Crashing, burning, dying, crying are your dreams
And uprooted is your tree!
And no longer will you see
Where to go or what to be!
When you face your final trial, what will the judge say to thee?"

"These are lies and mere dogma,
Based upon the fear of death!"
Darkness then just yells at me:
"You have your right to disagree!
Make a lovely pact with me.
I will offer you salvation,
No more fear or deprivation!
If you would me then just hear,
You have nothing at all to fear.
Since we do not have a soul.
There's nothing with which to pay a toll!
Sign here, over there.
In the name of pleasure and hope.
In the name of revolution,
Let your path be just a gentle slope!"

I’m a taker-receiver
I always get what I take
You only take what they leave you
You get nothing if you keep that rate

I’m a sayer-repeater
I’ll suck the time from your eyes
While you follow the leader
I’ll take your soul
And your merchandise

The December wind wrapped itself around the two as they briskly made their way down the crowded sidewalk. They didn't mind the cold all too much for their sheer excitement kept them warm. A mother and a son had traversed into the Inner Sanctum of the Main City to prepare for the festivities. It was the 20th, and on the 21st a world-wide celebration would ring out in glory of their leader's name and birthday. It wasn't just a celebration for him, as on the 21st everyone shared in on the gift giving and good will spreading amongst their friends and loved ones. The mother and son, however, had missed out on their shopping and were forced to rush and see what they could get the night before.

Every corner they turned and every step they took left them visually bombarded with fantastic, glowing displays of old time toys and new wave technology. Adding to the light were the countless souls that hung high in the sky: small blue and orange orbs of life that floated lazily up to their judgment. Waves of people passed them by, either dressed extravagantly in the season's colors of gold and red, or clad in black and white attire. Compared to everyone else, the mother and son looked rather mediocre. They shared the same raven-black hair, though hers fell in loose curls and his in choppy waves, and they both had stunning yellow eyes that seemed to carry a light of their own, even amidst the shops' glow. Warmly snug in simple coats and boots and maroon-colored scarves, the two often whispered and laughed to each other at how strange just some of these demons' fashion senses were.

They walked and they walked, stopping at store front and store front, peeking in every so often, until his mother wore three bags on her arm -- two on her left and one on her right. He carried a bag himself, all of them holding trinkets, ornaments and gifts for their extended family. The night was still young and the two decided to sight-see for just a little longer. After all, this was their first trip into the Inner Sanctum. For most of their needs, they went to facilities located in the Seven Providences, as the Inner Sanctum was much too long of a trip to take.

When I was seven, I was diagnosed with emotions.

“Poor girl.’I heard them say. “She’ll never survive this one.”

I laid with my face towards the ceiling on the cold examination table, listening to them discuss my fate. I felt something breaking in my chest and something burning inside my throat. A small tear slipped down my cheek.

“Doctor! Look at this!’Shrieked my mother, “Something is coming out of her eye.”

The doctor rushed over to me and wiped the tear from my cheek. He touched the top of my head as he whispered, “I am so sorry.’And then he turned to my mother. “It’s a tear. It means that she is sad.”

“Sad?’My mother asked inquisitively.

“It’s one of her emotions. This doesn’t attack the same way that normal diseases do, there are all sorts of different symptoms. Right now, she is sad and the only way that I know how to explain it is that she is feeling down.”

“What do you mean by down?"

“Her emotions can best be described as ones that are up—when she is feeling good, and ones that are down—when she is feeling bad. Right now she is feeling sad, which is a down emotion. If you need to understand her, ask her if she is feeling up or down. That’s all
I know how to tell you.”

“Will it kill her, doctor?"

He was silent. “Doctor?’She persisted.

“I don’t know. She’s got her heart on her sleeve, and that makes her vulnerable.”

My mother took a step back.

“I truly am sorry.’Said the doctor.

~

I was fifteen when I felt love for the first time. There was a boy, I don’t even remember his name, but he used to walk me home after school, and then one day he stopped. When I asked him why, he told me that he simply didn’t want to anymore and that it was out of his way and illogical.

I went home and curled up on my couch.

“Are you feeling up or down today?’Asked my mother.

“I don’t know.’I said. “Both.”

My mother took me to see the doctor again. He asked me how I was feeling. I told him that I felt something ripping at my chest and pounding in my stomach when I looked at the boy. I told him that I liked the way that I was feeling, but at the same time, I wanted it to stop.

He listened attentively. “Honey, I think you feeling the beginnings of love. It’s an emotion, but you can’t quite categorize it as up or down. And I’m sorry, but it will only get worse as you get older.”

The doctor handed me tissues as he waited for me to regain my composure before he took me back to my mother. He told her that we had sorted things out and that if we ever needed to see him again, all that we had to do was call.

And then he turned to me. “Just keep your head up, it will all turn out fine.’He gave me a friendly wink and my mother took me back home.

~

It was years before I saw the doctor again. I had experienced bouts of love, anger, and even happiness. But it was none of these that drew me to him again—it was listlessness. I was twenty-seven years old when I sat in the doctor’s office once again.

He handed me a mug of tea and we had a little chat.

“What seems to be bothering you?"

“I don’t know, doctor. I’ve become bored with everything. I get up, go to work, come home, sleep, repeat. Day in, day out. What else is there to be done?’I asked. “What does everyone else do every day?"

“They do the same things that you do.’His eyes fixed on mine. “The exact same, monotonous thing, we all do.”

“But why?’I pressed.

“I don’t know.’He said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s what we’ve been taught to do for all of our lives. It doesn’t bother anyone else—"

“Because you can’t feel.’I said finishing his thought.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what sorts of things do you feel?"  He asked.

I sighed and sat up in my chair.

“Go on.’He urged.

“It’s awful, doctor.”  I said, my voice cracking, “I start caring about someone or something, my heart breaks and then I repeat the cycle. I don’t know how to stop it.”

The doctor closed his eyes as if remembering.

“And what does it feel like? What do you do?"

“At first, it’s wonderful, I feel up, like I am pumping sunshine through my veins instead of blood, but then it feels sad, like my heart has shattered, and like glass, it can never truly be whole again.”

He opened his eyes and began to speak. “I’m sorry, but I think you know what I am about to say.”

I shook my head through tears in my eyes. “No…no.”

He looked directly into my eyes as he said, “I’m sorry, but no one will ever be able to feel the way you feel about them.”

I covered my mouth with my palm and let out a sob-like breath. “I know. I’ve always known, I just have been afraid to say it out loud.”

“I really am sorry. You are a strange case dear. It’s very surprising that you have survived to this point, most die young or are driven insane.”

“And there is nothing you can do about it?"

He looked at the floor. “Nothing.”

I saw the look on his face. “You’re lying.’I sneered.

“Yes,’he said looking up me again. “But I won’t do it.”

“Why?’I asked, my voice cracking as my heart pushed into my throat.

He shook his head.

“What makes you qualified to make this decision for me?’I asked through gritted teeth.

“Because I am not going to allow you to do this. Don’t you see? You have so much, all the feelings that have been lost over time. You may not realize it now, but I am begging you to think about it.”

There was no point in attempting to hide the tears at this point. “There is something you aren’t telling me doctor.’I exhaled between fits of sobs. “What is it?"

He shook his head and whispered, “Please.”

I stood up and grabbed my belongings. “Goodbye doctor.”

~

I have been emotion-free for thirteen years now. I get up to work, come home, sleep, and do it all again the next day. I am married to a nice man. We talk about our days at work while I cook dinner and he reads the newspaper. We considered children at one point, but it’s too late now.

I haven’t seen the doctor since I stormed out of his office that day years ago. He would be disappointed with my choice. I think I know what he was talking about all those years ago when he tried to warn me against leaving, I think he knew what this was like—the expectations, the almosts.

The expectation to feel something when my husband kisses me goodnight. The expectation to feel something when winter blows over the world. The almost feeling I get when my mother calls and I am reminded that I haven’t seen her in months. The almost feeling I get when I remember the doctor and realize that I left the one person who could almost love me.