Emotions are a drug.
Sweet on the tongue, but bitter in the gut.
They promise connection, yet devour sanity drop by drop.
Why haven't humans all gone mad, you ask? Because we cling to one another like vines on a crumbling wall.
Our social facades, masks of kindness, anger, indifference, keep the chaos at bay.
No one is born good or evil.
We're sculpted by the emotions we swallow and the reflections we see in others' eyes.
The world is a storm of randomness, cruel and indifferent.
Some say chaos can be tamed, predicted, even controlled.
But humanity hasn't earned that power yet.
Not even close.
Who am I to say this? I'm Zeke.
The boy who feels too much.
Since childhood, I've been cursed to see what others hide.
A tremor in a hand, a flicker in the eyes, I sense the guilt, the longing, the rage.
It's like hearing a symphony of heartbeats, each note a confession.
But what good is knowing a person's pain if you can't mend it?
My "gift" is a prison.
Every crowded room, every glance, every lie, it all crashes into me, relentless.
By eight years old, I still hadn't spoken a word.
Words felt too small for the tempest inside me.
Now, at seventeen, I lie here, choking on the irony.
I finally learned to speak… only to have my voice fail me when it matters most.
"Sister…"
The word scraped my throat raw.
She stood in the doorway, her silhouette trembling.
I could taste her sadness—sharp, metallic, like blood on the tongue.
Guilt, too.
She blamed herself for this.
For me.
"Just you wait, I'll bring you the new edition of Alex Machina, the game you love. And I swear I won't disturb you while you're playing it. You can play however you want." she hurriedly said, her voice trembling with a forced cheerfulness.
Games, huh.
It was my sister who taught me how to tie my shoelaces.
She was the one who showed me everything.
And it was also her who introduced me to games.
But games... they were different back then.
They didn't overwhelm me like the real world did.
In games, I could control the chaos.
I could step into other worlds, other lives, and feel tiny flickers of emotions, not the crushing weight of someone else's pain, but small, manageable sparks.
Joy from a victory, frustration from a loss, excitement from a challenge.
These emotions weren't mine, but they were real, imbued in the games by the humans who made them.
For the first time, I felt something close to peace.
But peace never lasts. Not for me.
Cough. Cough.
My lungs burned.
"Water… just a sip. Please."
Her breath hitched.
I didn't need my curse to see the tears pooling in her eyes.
She swiped her sleeve across her face, smearing snot and mascara, and fled to the kitchen.
For a moment, a strange euphoria surges through me.
It's warm, almost comforting, like the calm before a storm.
But then my limbs turn liquid, heavy and useless. "Sis—"
The word dissolves into a wheeze, barely audible.
My vision blurs, the edges curling like paper in a fire, and I can feel myself slipping away.
I want to call out to her, to tell her I'm sorry, to thank her for everything.
But the words are gone, lost in the chaos of my failing body.
All I can do is lie here, helpless, as the world fades around me.
And in that moment, I realize—this is it.
This is the end.
After everything, after fighting so hard to find my voice, to connect, to feel without drowning, it's all slipping away.
But even as the darkness closes in, I hold onto one thought, one hope: my sister.
She's always been my anchor, my lifeline in the storm.
And though I can't see her anymore, though I can't speak, I know she's there.
She's always been there
One second.
That's all it took.
One second, and the world stretched into eternity.
God, if you're real—please let me see her face.
Just once more.
Silence.
Then—crying.
Not hers.
Mine?
No.
Cold droplets splattered my cheeks.
Tears.
Hers.
Memories erupted: Mom's voice, fuzzy and distant.
A birthday cake with eight candles.
My sister's laughter as she taught me to tie my shoes.
But their faces… smeared into watercolor blurs.
Why can't I remember?
Panic clawed up my throat.
I'm dying.
The truth, sour and final.
"Mom…" I whimpered.
Had she ever been here?
Or had she vanished like smoke, leaving my sister to pick up the pieces?
Dad… who was dad again?
The thought slipped through my fingers like sand.
I couldn't remember his face, his voice, his presence.
Was he even real? Or just a shadow my mind conjured to fill the void?
The room darkened.
Sister. Please. Let me see you—
But then shadows swallowed something.
Swallowed everything...
When the paramedics arrived, they found her cradling my body, her tears soaking my shirt.
Her sobs were desperate, frantic, as she screamed at them to fix it, to rewind time, to unmake the illness that had gnawed at me since birth.
They couldn't, of course.
Randomness, see? It rules us all.
But in my sister's arms, for a moment, the chaos felt… quiet.