The Boy Who Couldn't Feel

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
He was not devoid of anything. Instead, he simply had nothing.

Submitted: July 30, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 30, 2017



The boy who could not feel had found nothing. There was not an emptiness. He was not devoid of anything. He simply had nothing.

(Not once did he address his indifference as an absence of something supposed to be. He only attempted to act the part. A role he assumed everyone had taken.)

A note fell out of the locker and onto the floor only to be haphazardly tossed into the bin. The pink heart that sealed its contents shown through for a brief moment until it was smothered by more trash. And when finally confronted, he presented the sender with an ambiguous "yes," a "sure."

The sky cycled through its normal agenda, constantly changing.

At first, it was a dark room crowded with silence, concealing his dull eyes unconcerned with mimicking life. But there was an opportunity, a chance ask. Was he really lacking or was the world lying, parading as beings with complexion far beyond reason. (However, he did not lack emotion, and neither did the world lie. It was he who forced an imaginary absence into existence.)

The watch struck two. It forced both of them to their separate ways. Him to another room and her to other people. Encounters were systematic, two times a week on identical days.

The skies progressed as his world ran circles.

(He forced the world into the rigid lines of reason, denying any existence beyond those boundaries.)

Years passed. The silence was crammed between two bodies, unable to escape. He had understood now that he did not have what others possessed. He simply had nothing.

It was a masquerade. All of it. Those artificial emotions switched seamlessly.

He denied he lacked anything. It was not him who could not feel but instead her who could not convey feeling. Of course, another lie.

The end crept closer, hiding behind nothing. The lies had unraveled, penetrated by feeling. The rigid lines of reason had shattered. He had given everything he could.

The concrete bricks were cold. The stars could barely shine. But the window was closed, giving the two an unsteady privacy. He finally said it, "I was never able to love." A fake tear ran down his cheek.

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