None of the Feels

I'm writing this letter to explain my suicide. I hope that will ease the minds of those who care about me, because I know I'm supposed to care. You who are close to me know what I mean, but I'll explain for the police. Three years ago, mid-February I think, someone somewhere fired a gun in a random direction and the bullet went through my brain. This didn't bother me at the time. At first I figured that was shock, but it was probably the start of the rest of my life. See, I only kind of survived.

A new me walked out of the hospital. Someone who didn't feel anything. I remembered being happy and sad, but not what those felt like. I never felt joy at making someone smile, or guilt at making them upset. It should have freaked me out, but naturally it didn't.

I'm broken. It doesn't bother me. It's a lot of work to keep track of what I should be feeling and pretending to do that. The longer it's been, the harder it is. I can't keep it up. And if the other choice is going full-on sociopath, I figure I'm better off dead.

All the Feels

I, James Kayle Pearce, am saying goodbye. I wish it didn't have to be like this. I think of all the people my death will hurt and it breaks my heart. I feel your pain so clearly. That's why I have to do this. I feel everything, and everything I feel is so strong. It started almost three years ago, just three days after Valentine's Day. Professor Dougherty was lecturing, and I thought how teaching the same class year after year must be boring. Then I felt it the crushing monotony like it was my own. I almost screamed. But as soon as I thought that maybe he enjoyed sharing his love of anthropology with new minds, I felt that instead. It was so strong I almost fell out of my chair.

It's been like that ever since. When someone else is upset, I'm broken. If I see someone happy, I'm elated. All the time, no exceptions. There's no room for my own feelings.

And I can't take any more. I hate hate hate the feeling of what you'll experience when you discover I'm gone... but it's that feeling that I have to escape. I'm sorry.

tearstains mar the note

Some Mood Lighting

The light flickered when Ksenia turned it on, and it kept flickering. "Stupid lamp," she said. "I need a lamp that works." Joasia sat forward in the secondhand recliner. "Maybe some mood lighting."

"Yeah, that would be nice. I wish I had a lava lamp. Uh..." The flickering light tinged purple as a mist rose up out of the central air vents.

"Your wish is grrrrrrranted!" boomed a deep voice, and a muscular man appeared. "Behold!" The flickering lamp now cast an ominous glow as lava poured from its lampshade. It pooled on the floor, which creaked and smoldered, promising a conflagration.

"That doesn't count," Joasia said. The two women moved away from the lava.

"It is a lamp of lava, is it not?" The genie grinned.

"I guess, but Lava Lamp is a trademark. It's a specific product. This isn't a Lava Lamp."

"I..." The genie's grin faltered. "Really?"

Ksenia blinked. "Um, yeah. That's definitely what I meant. You have to undo... this. Right now." She had backed into a corner.

With a petulant wave of his hand, the genie returned everything to normal, and vanished.

Ksenia sighed in relief. "Was all that true? About the trademark?"

Joasia shrugged.

Dealing with Darkness

"Listen," Dan whispered into the darkness, "I don't know if I can do this." He stared into the dark, but couldn't make out more than the faintest impression of a face, curiously still as it spoke. The voice was a soft whisper, barely audible. "There's something you want, isn't there? That new account at work? It'd be nice to wow them. A pretty girlfriend? Long life? Or maybe just information. Would you like to know if your wife is cheating on you? Who'll win the next World Series? Any of them, yours, if you just keep my secret."

Dan swallowed. His whisper quavered. "There is... I do want something."

"Tell me."

"I want to be a great artist."

"Painter? Sculptor? Draughtsman? Poet?" The voice couldn't hide its hunger.

"Woodworker. Can you do it?"

A pause. "Yes. Tell her nothing." The impression of a face disappeared into the shadow.

Dan stood, straightening and stretching his back. "See, honey? Nothing."

His daughter looked up at him from her bed. "Why'd it take so long, Daddy?"

His smile was convincing. "Just making sure, my dear." He kissed her on the forehead, smoothed her comforter, and closed the door as he left the room.

He Cuts Up Some Plastic and Puts It On His Phone. What Happens Next Is Breathtaking.

Andrew flexed the last piece of clear plastic between his fingers. "Just watch," he said. "This is gonna blow your socks off." His small audience — Professor Carrigan and her two other post-docs — looked on, eyes creased with skepticism. That skepticism changed to open-faced wonder as Andrew brought the plastic nearer the cell phone, already layered with plastic. They could feel something starting to change, like the surface tension of a bubble about to break.

The clear plastic touched the screen and glowed blue. "There," he said. "Cherenkov radiation. And—" He stopped as the glow shifted from blue to red, to something too dark to see. A breeze ruffled their clothing in the enclosed lab, then a gale tore from under the door and into the phone.

"It's not supposed to be like this!" Andrew didn't know if anyone heard him shouting over the whistling wind. He wondered if he'd have enough air for another warning. "The event horizon should've stayed—"

Everything fell still and silent. "—beneath the screen," Andrew finished. Professor Carrigan had clamped a Faraday cage over the phone.

"You've got at least six research papers here, Andy," she said. "But next time, please come more prepared."

It's Not Abandoned

"Ho-lee shit, I've never seen an abandoned dump truck before!" Janey climbed up and peered into the cab. "Obviously it's not abandoned," I said. "The workers are on, I dunno, lunch or something."

"Lunch? It's three o'clock! This is abandoned. And the keys are in it!"

"I'm going home, Janey."

Five minutes later, I answered my door. Janey hung her head in contrition. "The truck's stuck in the ravine," she said.

"Oh, Christ." I followed until I saw the truck's grill pointing up into the sky, rear buried in young birch trees and blackberry brambles. "Hey," I said, "Those fellas might want a word with you." Janey looked down the road at the two men in safety vests, running toward us.

"Ohshitohshitohshit," she said. "Put this on." She waved a self-adhesive fake mustache in my face.

"These obviously won't do anything." She stuck it on my face anyway.

One of the men called out, "Did you see what happened here?"

"'Appened?" Janey's French accent was atrocious. "Ah 'ave no idea hwat you mean."

He just stared. "O-kaaaay. Let's get some help down here. Excuse us... fellas."

As we walked back to my house, Janey said, "I knew it would work!"

A Quarter Went In

A quarter went in, a fortune came out. Inside the glass box, the soothsayer dummy gestured over a plastic crystal ball and leaned forward, as if to peer into her soul. A card clicked into the slot. It said  

YOU HAVE ALREADY FOUND TRUE LOVE

It made her smile, and she kept the card in her pocket. She dated, and she loved, but none of it was true. Returning to the arcade, a quarter went in, a fortune came out. It read

LOVE IS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU

She looked inward. She saw Joseph every day but hadn't thought of him that way. Maybe Vernon in HR? So she went out with them, but nothing clicked.

A quarter went in, a fortune came out.

YOUR PRESENCE GIVES HIM LIFE

She stopped dating and started watching. Who changed when she was around? Who became more animated, more himself? No one stood out. She went several months without dating before an outing brought her back to the arcade. A quarter went in. A fortune came out.

I MISS YOU

She looked at the soothsayer dummy, peering up at her. Were those tears in its eyes?

She never returned to the arcade.