Made to Love
We were made to love. Every person who has ever lived or ever will live on this Earth was made to love. Not to make money. Not to be strong or powerful. Not to be famous or successful. But to love.
Love may be different for each person. It may look like a smile or a hug. It may sound like a kind word or a friendly conversation. It might smell like a home cooked meal or taste like a cup of cold water. It may feel like a new pair of shoes or a warm house.
It isn’t hatred or malice. It’s not pride or apathy. Love pays attention. Love is passionate. Love is a choice. Love is an action.
Whoever you are, whenever you come from, whatever you do, in everything you do, choose love. Do what you were made to do.
Appreciation aches
There's not one thing that has ever been taken for granted by everyone at the same time. Oxygen? There's someone appreciating the air right at this moment. Nitrogen? Someone has just learned about it at school. Nails? Blood? Pupils? Everything is being appreciated at this moment in time by someone somewhere.
You?
You can argue that you have never been appreciated at any moment. I beg to differ. Someone might've looked at you at the streets and had a sudden realization that changed their lives for the better; a little kid might've looked at you and right away wanted to be like you when they grow up; You might've been in a rush and bumped on someone on their way to work and because of that they weren't hit by a bike that was passing by a few moments later. There's always something to appreciate at life and there's always something being appreciated.
We live in a planet that's inside a solar system that's inside a universe full of everything. And sometimes, that's exactly how we feel. Full of everything. When that feeling kicks in and everything seems a little hopeless, remind yourself that the world is full of everything as well. A little bit of appreciation might help.
The Blind
The label read, TAKE ONE A DAY. Few still questioned what the pill was. Their faiths had been satisfied by the absence of a third arm, which had yet to reveal itself in the many years that they’d been taking their pill.
Madison O’Cull was a diligent woman. She’d never forgotten to comply with this sacred instruction, though someday, she knew that age would prove otherwise. This failed to bother her. She would live until she died and refused to let the latter hinder her bliss.
Madison prided herself a resilient woman. The death of her husband had rattled her but hardly came close to breaking her will. The disappearance of her son after the last Territorial War did little more than unnerve her. The heavy wage cuts that came with the former population crisis had been little more than a nuisance.
This steadfastness, which kept her intact through seventy-or-so years of trouble, was now the last thing that kept her from screaming.
She had always been alone. She made no effort to establish new relationships, nor did she persist with her former ones. The company of someone else seemed foreign to her, almost uncomfortable, let alone the several uninvited guests that were now in her room.
Though her instincts spoke of danger, the people made no move against her. They were just there, some slumped over the bed, others milling by the lamplight. Madison saw a thin boy curled upon the couch and remembered that, only several hours ago, she had also been there finishing a Shirley Jackson novel. No acknowledgement was given to her for borrowing her couch. For that matter, no acknowledgement was given to anybody else, either. It was as if they were each trapped in their own worlds.
Madison thought what any sane person would’ve first thought: the apartment was haunted. She was among spirits, or was always among spirits, but had only realized now. As this theory nestled itself in her mind, she found curiosity override her fear. She nudged a young girl upon the bed, felt flesh touch flesh, and saw the girl’s eyes shoot awake. They were looking at each other now; only, the girl didn’t seem to look at her either, so much as looking through her. The eyes were distant and uneasy. Her head swiveled in apprehension, seeking who’d awoken her.
Finding this behavior somewhat un-spirit-like, Madison changed her course of thoughts. She wasn’t among spirits, but rather, a spirit among the living, having died in her sleep. That would explain for the other’s inability to perceive her and their surprise at brushing with a presence unseen.
She nodded to herself. It made perfect sense, if one didn’t account for why so many people were stuffed in a small room to begin with, or why they paid no heed to each other.
Feeling lightheaded, Madison settled herself upon the floor, causing others to turn her way as the wood gave a prolonged creak. In her mind, supposition chased fact and fact chased supposition in a dizzying spiral; the possibility of the supernatural came just as unfavorable as the lack of explanation otherwise. She took a deep breath, but the lightheadedness persisted. The stars in her eyes were multiplying now – they brightened, pulsed, flickered faster–
Then her senses were momentarily overshadowed by a singular voice, low and strained. Madison found herself looking through the lenses of – the lenses of what? – a veil of water, which distorted her senses and made her head swim. Two malnourished people were in her field of view, both donned in coats and gloves and hunched over a microscope. The strained voice, the voice of the taller one, said, “I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I,” the shorter one agreed. She looked around, then added with some haste, “But it’s what they want of us. We should do it.”
The tall one grunted. “With the same amount of time, we could’ve found another solution to the population. We could’ve found a fix to the food shortage or designed a way to increase resource production. We could’ve even figured out how to colonize Mars at this rate.”
“But this is what they want.” Even as the shorter one said it, she sounded unsure. “The sooner we’re finished, the better.”
The taller one grumbled. “Let’s get on with it, then.”
The two headed to another corner of the lab, where three patients were asleep on separate cots. There was a vial beside each.
The taller one drew a harsh breath. The shorter one seemed unbalanced.
“The sooner, the better,” she said again, and injected the vials.
A moment later, the patients were awake.
They bore a dazed look which Madison accounted to fatigue, but some part of her knew that fatigue was only the surface of what she was seeing. They each stood from their cots and came near the researchers, seemingly unaware of their companions. Even stranger, though, was the way their movements seemed so unnaturally rigid, as if she were watching a choreography that was sloppily arranged. They drew near in a diagonal path, until Madison was sure they would collide, but at the last moment, snapped parallel to each other without any indication of intent a second earlier.
The person on the left reached the researchers first and shook their hands. The one behind tripped, though seeming perfectly balanced a moment before, and came back to his feet only when the first was dismissed. The third suddenly faltered, seemed confused, and continued as the other two finished.
When all three of them left the lab, the researchers shared a smile that held no joy.
“It works,” the smaller one said. “What do we do now? Do we write to the governors?”
The taller one shook his head. “We need more trials. The chip might’ve gotten lucky this time, but even a tiny error in the neural signals could turn the person’s brain into a chicken.”
“We could write to them in advance.”
“Why do that? If they asked for it, they better have the patience to wait.” He crossed his arms. “What was the reason for this experiment, again?”
The smaller one explained, scholarly and without any enthusiasm, “Overpopulation is just as much a psychological issue as it is physical. They thought that if they could adjust the human brain to omit certain senses, such as the presence of others and their actions, then people would be satisfied. They wouldn’t know that a dozen others lived in their room, and they would be under the illusion that they were blissfully alone. Think of all the resources that would be conserved if we could just fit a hundred people into a small space without complaint.”
The taller one grunted, agreeing to the means but refusing to acknowledge the end.
“We’re doing the world a favor,” the shorter one continued. “If we didn’t put the world into the illusion of bliss, they’d be drowning under the misery of reality.”
She continued to talk, but the voice was melting away. Madison saw whiteness creep back into her vision, and during those few moments where her consciousness swam through a nexus, she thought about what she’d heard. What she now knew.
She remembered that she hadn’t taken her medication.
And as Madison O’Cull returned to the dark, suddenly stuffy room that was no longer hers, she began to scream.
grounded mind
.
No one can tell, when two people walk closely together,
what unconscious communication one mind
may have with another.
- Robert Barr
She walks in. Four bare walls, white paint. No furniture, just honey wooden floors and a light slipping through a window. The door behind her closes, a key turns, and there is only silence left to embrace this mind. She breathes out. What now? Not knowing what to do, she does the one thing that always makes her calmer, she counts. Four walls, two windows, one door. One guard outside. Ten small steps from the center of the room, and eight big steps to the door. Moving to the window, she gazes outside. A big oak tree grows right next to it. It’s late summer, but both the door and the windows closed, and the air inside stuffy. Sweat drips down her forehead and the small of her back.
Your thoughts are melting, darling.
The windows haven’t got bars, but then again why would they. It’s the third floor and she would kill herself if she decided to jump. They know she had a fear of heights. Her hands roll into fists and she keeps counting. The tree has about six meters, four big branches, seven middle ones and...
Loud, loud, loud.
You brake.
Something snaps and she starts to sob, her chest heaving, back trembling. Her whole body shaking.
How will she get out? What was there to do?
The young woman hides a face in her hands and puts her head against the wall. Tears staining the white paint. Isolation surrounds you, nothing else. Face it, they have you, again. Suddenly the lock in the door clicks, and someone turns the key. Her back straightens, just like a pained line made of smooth iron, as she wipes the tears away and turns around. Suddenly the weak creature from a moment ago turns into solid rock. Hard as granite. Her arms crossed, dignity masking everything else. A man walks in, holding a plastic tray; his face showing no emotions. There is a gun strapped to the side of his belt. It doesn’t seem that he wants to use it. Just a precaution. Watch out for her, she can be a problem. Don’t underestimate her. She flinches, hearing his thoughts but tries to hide it.
The man puts down the tray and leaves. The key turns. She exhales, sits on the ground, eyes moving to the food. Two pieces of bread, one bowl of soup, a glass of water, eight small steps to the tray. She feels nauseous but crawls to it on her knees. Her deep blue dress with sleeves that cover her arms isn’t too long, so the wood scrapes the skin, grazing the knees that have already been damaged before. She doesn’t even notice.
The wounds that cover you, don’t just touch your body.
Don’t they, little girl?
Just keep counting. Distractions were the things that kept her going, pushing insanity away to the farthest corner. Seven floorboards to reach the food, three splinters in her skin so far. She grabs the bread, quickly eats it and drinks it down with water; not trusting the mushy clay matter that pretends to be nourishment for her body.
After over an hour - 3758 seconds of silents and stuffy air, over 62 minutes of dark thoughts sinking into her oversensitive brain. 4 quarters of self-pity mixed with intense panic. A vast amount of tears now soaked into her clothes and skin. One expression of indifference as the door opens, with one camera above that door.
A woman in a lab coat enters, a pad and paper in hand. She moves some documents on it and scrunches her eyebrows together. Not even looking up, a man walking behind her. It’s the same one that brought her food. She knows the woman, another one of the doctors that were taking care of her - a pretty way of saying, holding her against her will when she was no longer cooperating. She looks to the doctor; long blond hair tied into an elegant ponytail. A slim, tall figure, about 5′8 in height, wears low heels. The woman starts to read as if she was all alone in the room.
Adria Morgenstein. Age 26. Has the ability to infiltrate the human mind. Abnormal brain waves limited, skills having the best result in a near range, up to twelve meters. It can influence other people to change decisions if physical touch is possible or the receiver is in bad mental health or shows a predisposition to the power of suggestion.
Dr. Clarkson, they are waiting for you.
Yes, yes, in a moment.
But doctor...
Silence, let those fools with thick wallets wait a couple of minutes. Some things should not be rushed. Now leave, I shall be with you shortly.
The man walks out, and the two women are left alone. Silence fills the room once more. Doctor Clarkson looks up, her expression not showing anything.
Ah, Galilea. I hear you have been misbehaving. It saddens me deeply to see you in such a state.
My name is Adria. I told you not to call me like that.
It’s the name listed in your files, but not the one that you were born with. We checked, trust me. But then again, you already know that.
It was chosen for me first, but I chose for myself.
Yes, always the rebel. If you chose to listen more to others, we wouldn’t even be here.
I won’t be a toy in your game or a lab rat that you can take tests on. Just a matter of time before you open up my brain, and see which cables were working and which were burned.
Honestly, why all the dramatic manner. We are all grown-ups here and I, my dear, do not mean to hurt you.
My mind and body would argue with that.
I roll up my sleeves and show her the purple and green bruises that are near my veins, then I lift the light brown hair that goes to my shoulder blades, and show her my neck. Two burned-out holes still sensitive, that throb whenever I shift my head.
You were being unwise, Adria.
She adds extra tones to the name, causing my skin on my back to crawl like a tortured animal in agony.
We had to make sure you wouldn’t be a danger to anyone.
Now that’s bullshit, you just did it sooner because I wasn’t all meek and submissive like you assumed at first. Everyone has their limits, doctor.
Her stare is cold as it drops to her board. She nods a couple of times and scribbles something down.
You are absolutely right. That’s why I am going to tell Adam to change your medication dose. We wouldn’t want you to be too untamed and misbehaving again. You caused some members of your stall quite the headaches. I felt very troubled by it.
She stares at me from under her glasses and slowly walks up. I stumble back and smack my back against the wall. The doctor smiles politely and takes out a needle from her lab coat. I flinch and her smile spreads. I see the light bounce off the thick needle, as I slide myself to the right. What they did to me before really weakened me. Both my mental powers and my physical strength. I couldn’t defend myself properly and I was on lockdown. My eyes stare at the sharp metal and widen in surprise, as the doctor lifts her sleeve and sinks the needle with a satin grey liquid onto her flesh. The sharp object disappearing into the inner side of her elbow.
I gasp. She doesn’t seem to be bothered. The woman puts everything back into her pocket and stares at me. There is something strange in her eyes and it looks like she is waiting. A couple of minutes pass as we just stand there, none of us really moving - I can feel my clothes turning damp from the sweat, and I feel sick. The doctor looks at her watch and seems to be pleased. She grabs my forearm expectantly. My body tenses as I automatically try to send out my psychic voice message. They’re not even words, more like a silent order or a plea. My thoughts roundup in a shape only I see and hit her. It’s a warning. Stay away from me, let go. Now.
Nothing happens and my body slowly slouches, feeling defeated. They made another drug to test on me, and this time it worked. They’re making progress. But as stubborn as I was, I try again and again - what a naive attempt. My thoughts reach her but then bounce off a mental wall, that the drug supplied. The doctor nods satisfied and let’s go. I slide against the wall and land on the ground, feeling so tired. They already took so much of me, and I felt defenseless as a newborn. Never before did I use my abilities to harm anyone, but today I wish the situation was different - but instead, I couldn’t even protect myself, feeling the whole world crashing on me at once. My chest covered by a big rock, enabling me to breathe, body seeming to sink helplessly. Only then do I notice that the doctor used another needle, this time on me. I sink deeper, but before I collapse completely, her voice penetrates my mind.
Such a dramatic nature, as if she never had any tests before. You would think that after all this time, you would learn something. Try to sleep Galilea, maybe then you won’t cause any more trouble.
Her voice is patronizing and dripping with dislike. As if her personal guinea pig wasn’t doing a good job, not meeting the expectations. My fingers clench and my brain opens up like a plant, slowly - anger making me stronger - tiny vines stretching out and moving forward, a million green leaves made of thoughts vibrating and growing, covering the space between us. Blooming with a new craving.
The vibrations in the room change and the woman stumbles, almost tripping. She clears her throat, trying to hide the embarrassment, probably thinking that in fact, she had just tripped. The door opens followed by a sound of a single click, and then a turned key. Finally, absolute silence. Her body shifts and drops numb. She lays flat on the wooden floor sinking but manages to lift the sides of her mouth. They haven’t destroyed her just yet.
to be continued...
_____
Photo credit : Taya Ivanowa
Not like the other entries.
I love gibberish jabberash gibdash jiberjaberish? ... Now what do I say, I mean I could just write down random words and cross my heals, hands, fingers, nose, and toes OH and don't forget about the hear no no no I mean head NO! don't even have auto correct and i'm messing up well third times the lucky charm ... Heart.(THANK GOD IT WORKED, YES! ok i'm good) Well hope you enjoy this "Masterpiece" and remember to all who read this don't eat yellow snow, if you shake it more than twice your playing with it, and if you need help just ask unlike me who abiovelsy needs help on my self, on this, on anything I do.
Well this is Vlosick the not so great, not so fantastic, and don't even think of me as fabulous signing off so yolo, froyo and don't eat my Rolo.
