Everyone has a mark that tells what their respective soulmate thinks about them in their first meeting.

For him, his soulmate’s mark oddly writes the word “survivor”, but his young self only assumes that his soulmate must a strong and independent person. He smiles proudly and shows his markings with pride at that time.

What he fails to realize is the exact meaning of such a word until he finally meets her one day.

It is a usual work for him—nothing unusual for police officer like him. Then, the siren calls and his duty turns 180 degrees.

His fellow police officers brought a couple of teenagers, who have been caught trying to steal and burn down a building. The fact that teenagers are the criminals is problem enough but then, he sees the oldest person—probably in her twenties—among the group.

Her eyes are dull.

No light emits from them, only soulless as if she has nothing to live for. She stands motionlessly and accepts nonchalantly the handcuffs on her wrists. Her whole body that’s not covered by her clothes are filled with scars and wounds, painting an ugly picture.

His soulmate mark burns—glowing faintly, thinly, as if mere fireflies dying out—and he stares wide-eyed at the girl, who looks back without emotion despite her mark glowing as well.

“Alive,” is what it says, and his heart sinks.

—in numbness,

—in sorrow,

—in regret,

—in lost,

—for his mark about her clearly is a sign for help.

How to describe what can not be explained?

The embodiment of numb is a life constrained.

Continual devotion at an emotional abyss.

Where Affliction and Self you will jointly dismiss.

An offering of sorts in the pursuit of peace.

Hoping to silence the pain that does not cease.

If the offer is sincere from your depths something born.

A damnable resilience towards all that would scorn.

Damnable? You may ask. Indeed this is true.

Cold indifference is a poisonous brew.

Bolsters resolve, but in turn rots the core.

Given time you’ll become that which you abhor.

How many of your colors will you choose to compromise?

Is a heart of stone deemed a worthy prize?

So before you persist consider this:

Is it personal growth when you cease to exist?

The first song in Hozier's new album makes this make more sense to me. As did an episode of Midnight Gospel titled "Annihilation of Joy". I recently understood the numb more. But first, a brief overview of my relationship with it.

Numb is an old friend... Like many other "negative" emotions. Calling them negative seems rude now... Probably because I try to respect and understand their existence more. Coming to terms with my own being and all that.

Numb was one of the strongest parts of my melancholia. Many, many years of a push and pull between feeling too much and nothing at all. Those were the two kinds of bottoms I'd hit, getting lower every time and I feared this one. I hated how it sucked everything out of me like a vacuum. How I would stare at the ceiling and wait for emotion that may or may not come, how it felt like the emptiness would last forever in those long, silent moments.

It took over many things. Relationships with people. The things I loved became muted, subdued, faded. I was fading along with. And the more I sank in, the more it made sense and made me feel insane all at once.

I think I understand the point of it now, however. In two ways. The first is that it's there to protect me... From the other side of the spectrum. The muting may be extreme but it softens everything... Until nothing matters. I've had bad experiences that were only survivable, to some extent, because of the numbness. Because of the empty. Because negative emotions, despite the way they make us feel, exist for a reason. I don't enjoy them either but every last one of them works for you, just as the rest of your body, soul and mind try to.

The second thing isn't complex. Not to me, anyway. I've seen the quote many times that says we are the universe experiencing itself. If I am the universe the everything that has ever made me happy represents every star in the sky, every floating celestial body. New and old as they explode into existence and fade away into the ether. Every book. Every TV show. Every wonderful fanfiction there has ever been. My family. The people I've loved and lost the gaze of. Stars.

The empty is the darker part. The numb is what lies outside of all the feeling and emotion humans possess. Sometimes it has a cause but often times, it just appears to me. Usually when I put away stimulation and let myself drift. Or when I think so much that my brain shakes its head and shuts us down. The numb is a long blanket that occupies the parts of our existence that are not filled with things. Love and hope and rage and desires. The part that is just us existing on a planet for a little while. The us behind all the other.

I wouldn't say I enjoy it. It's not meant to be enjoyable. It's neutrality at its strongest. But there is no bright, burning star or violent comet crashing through the cosmos without the blanket of dark empty space between. There is a beauty to it. A need to it. It's the base of what we are. The behind. The underneath. At least, to me. Cut it some slack. Give it a listen. Allow yourself to be a while. It isn't there to hurt you. It's just...

Here.

What is numb? Like exactly? There's a cold numb. Hot!! now cold?? Your existence, the air is still, mindboggling thoughts with a gleaming smile sitting in the dark sky. Or the silent tears dropping to your desk. Compliments are nags. All smiles are fake. Someone is watching and I want them to stop. Me disappearing isn't enough, what's more permanent than death itself? Tell me which is more numb, when it's hard to say "I love you" or "I love you too" in a quick response with a whisp of breath taken.

It may be cruel fate that brought us together,

It gave me hope and took it back without any mercy.

The first time I ended us, I blamed my cold dark heart

while I felt only numb,

The second time I did that, I drove a nail deep into my heart,

In the end, I had let one more person to stomp

on my bleeding, red-stained heart,

What a beautiful miserable fate…

The brain has a response to traumatic events. In a normal human, you should relatively easily and quickly deal with those times and leave the bulk of it behind.

In the fragmented mind, you may only ask for the pistols and doctor on site.

You will duel this event until death. Constant twisting of the barrel, shooting and shooting and...

Sirens. A shout, perhaps a wave of a flag in your harried vision. Someone is down.

Often it is you. Rarely, it is your mirror reflection inflected with ruinous courage.

You will find yourself despondent, and you will attack and after several shots to the same wound never quite finished bleeding, you will end up relentlessly empty. Your life, your anger, your vengeance dripping onto the next of kin.

A duel is not fair, when your trauma has a chamber filled with every horrid memory you have down to the toothpaste you used that day.

You cannot outrun. Cannot outlast. Cannot get out fast enough.

After all, your shadow follows. You cannot hide even in the cover of night.

You let the steady stream of suffering chill your furried blood, freeze it over until it is cobblestone.

You will lay facing the wall, curled as though it may prevent the shots you have turned your back to.

There is no time to negotiate now, as your second- your logic- attempts to negotiate with your own self's emotion.

But your yield, your betrayal, it fuels your opponent as though you had given it a reflector sight.

You could die. People need you alive, but oh, what is there left to give when you are a husk of yourself?

You will remain this way, until you drag your heavy and battered body to the field where your opponent cannot get the best of you.

In joy. In love.

You will see you are lucky to be alive, and armed with a battalion of miracles, you will not lose.

It’s difficult being in this work, when everyone is so fearful. Why do they give me those dreadful eyes? I am no different than your average, well-meaning person…It is blasphemous, prejudiced the way you all treat me.

It only makes it worse that I am armed with the best weapons: the drill, the anesthetics, forceps…my personal favorite being the wondrous rongeurs. Or perhaps it is the scalpel….? Anesthetics are quite satisfying themselves, but the newly hired anesthesiologist does most of that these days…

I come to the side door of the front desk, where a spectacled, olive-skinned woman of 40ish sat behind a desktop, folders, and clipboards.

"Who is next on the schedule, Armina?"

She scanned a sheet, clicks her long nails across the keyboard. "Jennie, Gol-erm, Jennie Golinksin...aya..vil..."

When no one stepped forward, she raised her voice. “Jennie Golinksinayavil."

A small grey-haired woman in a crisp navy blouse and blinding white capris rose timidly, took faltering steps toward the desk. "T-t-that's me."

Armina looked down her nose and directed, "To your left, please."

Hesitant shuffling approached the doorway, so I took my leave. I take the doctor-patient relationship quite seriously. They must wait until the professional deigns to see the patient—what would they think, if we awaited them like school children for our mothers…? It simply would not do.

I find a dark corner when Armina comes rushing around the bend. "Dr. Misha. Dr. Misha..."

"Yes, yes, Armina?"

"We have a problem..."

"Yes?"

"It is, it's a problem, Dr. Misha, I don't know what to do..."

"Armina, what is this problem?"

"It is with Dr. Jussiack..."

"Yes, the anesthesiologist? What is with Dr. Jussiack?"

"He cannot come, he is sick with the flu. I called Dr. Kim, the backup anesthesiologist, but he is at the other branch all day, he can't come, and we have two surgeries today..."

"Ah, yes, I see, Armina, I see. But this is not a problem, Armina. A problem is when you have no anesthesiologist on staff with surgeries on the agenda, this, no this is not a problem at all, Armina..."

"But...But, who is going to do the anesthetizing?"

"I will, do them Armina. It is no problem."

"But Dr. Misha...The Incident...We hired Dr. Jussiak because of The Incident, and Dr. Kim also, just in case, we don't...Well, no offense and all, but I just thought..."

"No worries, Armina, I am capable of using anesthetics. Go back to your desk, please, I need to prepare now for surgery."

"Erm...Of course...You know where they are? The anesthetics, I mean?"

"You're not my mother, Armina...I am quite capable."

"Oh--we could always call Dr. Issnar, I think it may be her day off, but she has done anesthetics...I know it's not her job, but..."

"Armina, everything is under control. I will let you know when Mrs. ....Golinokasolalavil is finished."

"Erm..." Armina shifted feet. "Okay, then."

***

I visited Jennie shortly thereafter.

“Hello, Ms…Ms Jennie, I am going to be performing your surgery today.“

Jennie, for her part, attempted to smile. “I’m a little nervous, Dr. Misha.”

“And why are you nervous, Ms. Jennie?”

”Well, um…to be perfectly honest…your reviews, Dr. Misha. They’re not very good.”

I frowned. “Really?”

”No, and I know you must be asking yourself, ‘Well, then, Jennie, why did you come to me if I have such bad reviews?’“

”I was not, actually, thinking that…”

Jennie barreled onward, ”And, well, Dr. Misha, you see, yours is the only that will take my insurance, you see. The only dentist, or oral surgeon, I mean.”

”Mmhmm…mmhmm, well…”

“I would have liked to go across the street, you know, to Dr. Hiram’s. He has wonderful reviews! Some of yours in particular, were concerning, and I just wondered if we could discuss them, just real quick, to ease my mind…“

”Jennie, would you like your orthognathic surgery done today, or would you prefer to reschedule?”

”My…I’m sorry, what was that? Orthonath…? Oh, I would be like to seen today, yes. But I’m just not quite sure I caught that, that part about the ortho-something-surgery…”

”Very well, then. You didn’t eat or drink anything today?”

“No, no, that’s all good, Dr. Misha…”

”Wonderful, just wonderful, Jennie.” A thrill as I gathered my tools, prepared the anesthetics…An electric thrill tingled through my body, my digestive system rumbling in agreement…Indeed, indeed…It was turning out to be a lovely day.

***

The next morning, Armina the desk clerk comes hurdling towards me, as she tends to do.

“Dr. Misha? Dr. Misha! I need to speak to you, we have a problem…”

”You and your problems, Armina,” I note with a sigh.

“Jennie is suing you for the surgery you did, the orthognathic that was supposed to be a dental extraction…”

“Oh my, dental extraction. I had no idea. Perhaps we should reschedule for this.“

”Well, technically, I don’t think that would be advisable for the moment…”

“Of course, of course. She must recover first. Did she mention how she was feeling after the orthognathic procedure?”

”Quite numb, apparently.“

”Good, good, that is quite a normal reaction. No problem here, no problem at all, Armina. Schedule her for a few weeks, and we can see how she is progressing...”

Tails, dozens and dozens of ribboned kite tails, swirling and whipping in the wind on the high prairie. The church people bring me here to watch the kites. They spread a red checkered picnic blanket on the hot, spiky grass, and prop me up on a straw tick cushion with my hands folded in my lap, a quilt pulled up to my chest. My cold stocking feet are uncovered; I no longer wear shoes since I cannot any longer walk. I dare not complain, for there are children who are halt and lame, and will be that way their whole blessed lives. I have already my life well behind me, beautiful shining moments when I could walk and work and care for my babies. I smile thinking of it all now— the countless days I hung the wash in the sun, scrubbed the floors on my hands and knees, cooked for company with a baby on my hip and my other one clinging to my skirts. These are the memories that I hold onto, now that my husband is gone on to glory and my children are doctors and lawyers in New York State with grandchildren of their own. My good work, my housework. It warms me to think of it now. The church people, they see my smiling face and they smile, too. They think I am pleased with the blue sky and the clouds. They are good to me, though they believe I am feeble-minded and simple and easily pleased by colorful kite tails and squealing children. I am not. My own children are gone, and to see these things raises a bitterness in my throat. But I smile, and am glad. Not the absent, childish smile of a dull old woman, but the contented and sad smile of someone who has who has known and lost a great deal of love.

As the time flew by, the plastic never ceased to feel broken. Shards scattered across the floor of memories and dictated a false sense of reality. A hope, a promise, and a wish fulfilled with such rare ease as splitting a knife through butter. Yet, there was no satisfaction. No nauseating burst of thrill or clarity of mind for the future. There was only duty and a fog that lifted one foot after the other and tap danced forward in time. Friends reached out with gentle pats and family eagerly tried on their new wares. The only shred of life that heaved through the wall of smoke was a queer panicked feeling of free falling that was purposely displaced with ignorant bliss.

The numbness persisted passed the point of no return. With each beat of a fresh heart came a radiant slash of pain that shook each atom to it's core. Again, again, again. The agony sewed shut the lip's scream for silence. Each pulse a reminder that there was no option of flight, only fight. Hours upon hours elapsed where the months of hope, betrayal, ecstacy, doom, and boredom, which had all been withheld, finally exploded in a moment. The twisting, churning presence of the future emerged, followed by a sudden release. Relief. A burden lifted. The numbness, the absence of life, it all disapated.

Cries; tears of joy shrieked out. The freshness of breath drawn deeply into the lungs felt sweet again. The taste of warm meals superseded the fulfillment for energy once more. Sleep, such precious sleep, could be found in the most precarious of places. The isolation among a million faces faded into one being whose smile created a home. The numbness, the lack of direction or hope or danger evaporated in the sweat of labor. All multiverses intertwined and the birth of the Sun became the center of my universe.