Misheard Whisper
The Fire of Dragons
This is the first draft of an original novella I completed the other day. It is rated R for violence and mature themes (I have run it past a moderator, though, and it's OK - thanks, Dragonfree), so please be careful if you want to read this.
Artificial
[FONT="]
[/FONT]
I was not born, I was made.
Not simply made, I was created.
Not simply created, I was fabricated.
Not simply fabricated, I was engineered.
Not content with engineering me, my creator conditioned me to be what he wanted me to be. I lived for him. He was everything I had ever known, and I had no reason to want anything else. For a time, I was happy.
Is it possible, though, I wonder, for me to be happy? I am, after all, artificial. I was created to have feelings, to experience human emotion. I feel as though I am alive. But in reality, these illusions of happiness and contentment were merely programming, screeds of complex code fed into my processor before my life began. No matter how complex they are, no matter how real they appear to those around me, my feelings are nothing more than a stream of data telling me how to react.
Darius, my creator and master, programmed me to feel negative emotions, as well. I often wondered whether this was the right thing to do. Surely it would have been better for everyone involved if I had been eternally happy, like the others. I often asked him this when we sat alone together, as we often did. For when I became angry, I often could not control myself. I sometimes hurt him, and as angry as I might ever have been at him, I never wanted to cause him pain. Yet whenever I asked him to remove the programming, I was met with the same answer.
“No, Anti,” he would say. “It is important that you learn to appreciate the world in its entirety. A being such as you must have a full understanding of both good and evil, and human nature. For you to understand how it is to be human, you must be as close to a human being as it is possible for you to be. Do you understand what I mean now?” I would smile and nod as I always did, a carefully conditioned response. He would grin back at me, and then retrieve his glasses from where they had landed when they inevitably fell off. He always forgave me. He never blamed me for hurting him.
Other humans, however, were not so kind. Often, I would have to venture out into the world to perform some trivial errand for my master. I met many other humans, humans who were nothing like my master. I have one particular instance stored in my memory bank; one instance that I find myself revisiting more and more frequently as time goes on. . .
As usual, I was acutely aware of my surroundings. Like most mornings of early spring, the cherry trees lining the avenue were laden with sweet-smelling pink blossom, some of which had fallen to the road. The scent wafted through the air, permeating everything. I didn’t smell it – I never smelled anything, after all – but my sensors told me it was there. The cherry trees were in sharp contrast to the piercingly blue sky that stretched behind them to all horizons. A haphazardly-spaced flock of birds zipped across the cloudless expanse, borne upon the wind like unwanted chaff.
The city was as sleepy as it usually was on a Saturday morning. Though the sun was already well up, it was still only seven degrees. I was almost alone on the street. I had been sent to deliver a letter to a friend of Darius’. It was apparently confidential, hence why he had written it on paper and entrusted it to me rather than simply send it across the Internet.
I had to admit to myself that I was curious as to the contents of the letter. Although I was artificial, Darius had made sure I was as near-human as it was possible to be for a gynoid like myself. I restrained myself, though. I had to prove that I was worthy of Darius’ trust.
“Look, Mommy! A robot!” piped a small voice somewhere behind me. I closed my eyes and forced myself to stay relaxed. Children infuriated me for some reason.
“Shh, honey. She’ll hear you. It’s not nice to point.” The child’s mother was whispering to it frantically, evidently unaware that my hearing was about twenty times better than the most sensitive human’s. I opened my eyes again and kept walking, deliberately not looking backwards. Interestingly enough, it seemed there was something about me that gave away the fact I was artificial. Even though my physical appearance was identical to that of a normal teenage human, there must have been something, because everyone I met seemed to identify me immediately as being inhuman.
“But robots don’t care, do they, Mommy? Robots are all nice, so they won’t mind!”
“Well – oh!” There was a patter of small feet behind me, followed shortly by a tugging on my arm. The feeling was foreign and unwelcome. I reacted automatically, snatching my arm out of the child’s grasp and turning to glare at it. It would have been about two, and dressed in so many layers of puffy, woollen clothing that it was impossible to determine any semblance of gender. I gave it my best death glare. Nobody ever touched me. Ever. Nobody except Darius, of course.
The child grinned and approached again, reaching for me again. I stumbled backwards, thrown off slightly. Giggling, the child pursued me as I backpedalled a few steps. My instinct took over then, and I struck out, knocking the child flying. Its mother screamed and rushed over to where the child had fallen.
I relaxed slightly. There was no harm done. It wasn’t seriously hurt. I nodded in apology to the child’s mother before turning to leave.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I glanced back curiously. What? The woman had gathered up her child and was clutching it to her fiercely. “You can’t just do that! Who do you belong to?” I frowned in confusion. What was wrong here? Where was the forgiveness? Where was the calm, smiling acceptance that Darius always showed me?
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that,” I said calmly, but she didn’t seem to want to take that for an answer.
“Who owns you? You’re a robot; you have to tell me!” Theoretically, she was correct. Artificial beings like myself were bound to answer all questions directed at them by humans. If I had been a normal gynoid, I would have had to tell her.
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that,” I repeated. “Why is it you wish to know?”
“I want to know so I can sue him!” she screeched. “You’re a danger to humanity, and so is whatever lunatic owns you!” Nobody threatened Darius while I was around. Nobody.
The world turned red.
Infallible and comprehensive as they usually are, my memory banks are oddly blank for a while after this point. The next thing I remember is being reactivated by Darius.
“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble today, Anti,” Darius sighed as he came into focus. I was strapped, upright, to the operating station in Darius’ laboratory. The usual mess of wires, batteries, fragments of metal casing and soda cans was strewn around the dark room, lit only by a series of plasma screens on the wall, most of which were showing a golden beach in Hawaii. On the biggest one, however, I could see a life-sized rendering of myself in cutaway, exposing my inner workings. I was certainly an intricate creation, I reflected. Darius was right to be proud of himself for creating me.
I understood, however, that I was different. Darius made many androids and gynoids, but I was separate from the rest. I was an experiment. He had, against regulations, made me able to feel anger, hate and pain, as well as programming me to speak my mind. Normal gynoids were programmed simply to be bland, smiling servants who did what you told them, did it well, and did it without complaining. Darius told me he had created me to see if a gynoid could really live like a normal human; if it was possible for me to feel and think like he did.
To act like he did.
“What happened?” I asked. It was a loaded question, and I knew it. He sighed and stopped tinkering with the panel on my arm that he had been occupied with. He bowed his head silently for a moment, so that all I could see from my vantage point was his messy brown hair. He glanced up at me eventually, a serious, sad look in his eyes. I didn’t like that look at all. “What did I do? I remember nothing.”
He sighed again. “Anti, do you remember how I always thought it was better for you to feel all human emotions, not just the good ones?” I nodded silently, not trusting my voice to remain steady. There was a tone in Darius’ voice that spoke of infinite sorrow, of a void in his heart. “Perhaps . . . perhaps I was wrong. Maybe it would have been better if you had been . . . more like the others.”
“I . . . I don’t want to be like the others, Darius!” I protested. “What are you saying? Are you going to reprogram me?”
No! No, please! I want to stay like this! I want to stay . . . with you!
“No, Anti, I could never do that to you. I’m only going to tinker with you a little bit.” I could tell it was hurting him to say it. “You’ll remain in stasis for the rest of time. You will retain all your programming, but you will be unable to move or act. I was told to-” His voice cracked, and a tear ran down his cheek. He tried again. “I was told to destroy you.”
“Wh-what? Why?” I didn’t understand. What was Darius saying?
“I’m sorry, Anti,” he said. ‘I can’t let you continue to be active, or I’ll be in even more trouble than I am already. But I . . . can’t bring myself to destroy you. That would be like destroying a little bit of myself.” He stopped and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. It obviously wasn’t working. The tears were flowing more freely now, despite his efforts to control them.
“Goodbye, Anti,” he said softly. “It was fun. I’ll miss our little talks. But this is . . . for the best.” I started to ask him why, what I had done to deserve this, but before I could open my mouth, he reached forward and pressed the deactivate button on my exposed arm panel.
The world went dark.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t see or hear a thing. I was sure that I still strapped to the operating station, but it was impossible. All my external sensors had been deactivated, as well as the ability to move. I was dead to the world.
I fancy that I cried at that point. It is mere fancy, of course, for I was never able to cry in the first place, and all motor functions were turned off anyway. But if I had been human, I believe I would have. I would have sobbed my heart out.
Do I have a heart? Not in the sense that humans have a heart, but Darius made sure it was close enough. My central battery unit was situated in my chest, just to the left of my spine, where a human would have her heart. At times, when I was happy, I fancied I could hear it beating.
I have never heard it beating since Darius put me in stasis. It has been fifty years now, and I have spent that time wondering why. What possible reason could Darius have had for deactivating me like that? What could I have done that was so bad? And why wouldn’t he tell me? He had always trusted me before, so why not then? Why not when it mattered most of all? Perhaps he told himself he was saving me the pain of knowing what I had done. He wasn’t. Not knowing is worse than knowing, every time. What knowledge could be more horrible than this gulf within me, this empty void that threatens to consume me?
He had no right to withhold that information. He had no right . . .
***
June 12, 2161. 06 : 12 : 24
“Look, Anti,” whispered Darius softly, pulling back the indigo curtain covering the window. “Snow.” I was, of course, aware that it was snowing. I had noticed as soon as it started, several hours ago. But hearing Darius say it made it that much more special. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
It was. I had never seen snow up until this morning, and then in the dark. But now, the rising sun reflected off the icy white expanse and the ground shone with light. Snow was still falling from the clouds overhead, but it was just a light sprinkling, whereas before, it had been like a giant, falling sheet of white.
“It is,” I agreed. “I’ve never seen snow before, Darius.” He grinned, the light from the window bathing his face in white.
“That’s right. I’d forgotten about that! Let’s go outside,” he suggested, hooking a heavy jacket off a stand and heading for the door. Curious despite myself, I followed him.
I didn’t need a jacket, of course, seeing as I didn’t feel heat or cold. I couldn’t help but giggle while he struggled with the jacket. It was far too big for his seventeen-year-old body, and he was having trouble finding the arm holes. I took it off him, laughing, and helped him into it.
“Thanks, Anti,” he said, grinning, and pulled on a pair of gloves before trying to open the door, failing due to the lack of friction granted by the wool. I moved his hand out of the way and turned the knob. A blast of cold air rushed in like a starving animal, knocking Darius’ newly-donned beanie off his head and his glasses askew. “Hey!” he exclaimed, then laughed. I laughed with him, and despite the cold, despite not being able to feel the temperature, I felt warmth flood my body and soul, bringing me such joy as I had not felt before.
And never felt since. That was one of the happiest moments of my life; an innocent, joyful morning with Darius, smiling and laughing in the snow, happy and content with each other’s company.
But it lasted nowhere near as long as I should have. I have been alone for fifty years. Alone . . . How dare he leave me alone? I wanted to stay with him . . . I wanted to be with him forever . . .
No . . . why did he leave me? Why did he leave me here? I’m alone. There is an empty place in my heart without Darius. A cold, empty place, slowly filling with blackness.
Do I even have a heart? Perhaps not. But like a human, I feel, and as such, I must have some form of heart, even if not physically. I often wondered about this conundrum, but now I am sure of the answer. Yes, I do have a heart. I know this.
I know this because it is filling with ice.
I used to love Darius. I thought the world revolved around him. But he never cared for me. Not really. If he had – if he had cared about me, he would not have done this. He would not have left me here, alone, unseeing, unhearing. He would have found a way. If he had really cared for me like I cared for him, he would have found a way to keep me with him. He would have fought for all he was worth to keep me with him.
But evidently, he did not even care that much for me. He simply left me here to torment myself with eternally tightening spirals of pain.
If he had cared, he would have destroyed me. It would have saved me this pain.
The pain! I feel it. I feel nothing physically, of course, but my mind is wracked with spasms that I seem to feel throughout my entire body. Am I moving? Do my fists clench and unclench in agony? It seems to me, in my delirium, that they do.
If he had cared, he would have destroyed me. It would have been better.
But he didn’t care. He never cared for me.
I was never anything more than another robot to him. I loved him, and I foolishly thought he loved me. But I was never any different. If he had cared . . . if . . .
My existence is a whirling maelstrom of ‘if’s. Uncertainty swirls around me like a hurricane. I am in the eye of the storm, calm among the chaos. But it will not last. Soon, the storm will move, and I will be consumed. I must fight it!
I must . . . fight . . . the storm.
Artificial
[/FONT]
Part I
I was not born, I was made.
Not simply made, I was created.
Not simply created, I was fabricated.
Not simply fabricated, I was engineered.
Not content with engineering me, my creator conditioned me to be what he wanted me to be. I lived for him. He was everything I had ever known, and I had no reason to want anything else. For a time, I was happy.
Is it possible, though, I wonder, for me to be happy? I am, after all, artificial. I was created to have feelings, to experience human emotion. I feel as though I am alive. But in reality, these illusions of happiness and contentment were merely programming, screeds of complex code fed into my processor before my life began. No matter how complex they are, no matter how real they appear to those around me, my feelings are nothing more than a stream of data telling me how to react.
Darius, my creator and master, programmed me to feel negative emotions, as well. I often wondered whether this was the right thing to do. Surely it would have been better for everyone involved if I had been eternally happy, like the others. I often asked him this when we sat alone together, as we often did. For when I became angry, I often could not control myself. I sometimes hurt him, and as angry as I might ever have been at him, I never wanted to cause him pain. Yet whenever I asked him to remove the programming, I was met with the same answer.
“No, Anti,” he would say. “It is important that you learn to appreciate the world in its entirety. A being such as you must have a full understanding of both good and evil, and human nature. For you to understand how it is to be human, you must be as close to a human being as it is possible for you to be. Do you understand what I mean now?” I would smile and nod as I always did, a carefully conditioned response. He would grin back at me, and then retrieve his glasses from where they had landed when they inevitably fell off. He always forgave me. He never blamed me for hurting him.
Other humans, however, were not so kind. Often, I would have to venture out into the world to perform some trivial errand for my master. I met many other humans, humans who were nothing like my master. I have one particular instance stored in my memory bank; one instance that I find myself revisiting more and more frequently as time goes on. . .
***
September 19, 2167. 08 : 46 : 27
September 19, 2167. 08 : 46 : 27
As usual, I was acutely aware of my surroundings. Like most mornings of early spring, the cherry trees lining the avenue were laden with sweet-smelling pink blossom, some of which had fallen to the road. The scent wafted through the air, permeating everything. I didn’t smell it – I never smelled anything, after all – but my sensors told me it was there. The cherry trees were in sharp contrast to the piercingly blue sky that stretched behind them to all horizons. A haphazardly-spaced flock of birds zipped across the cloudless expanse, borne upon the wind like unwanted chaff.
The city was as sleepy as it usually was on a Saturday morning. Though the sun was already well up, it was still only seven degrees. I was almost alone on the street. I had been sent to deliver a letter to a friend of Darius’. It was apparently confidential, hence why he had written it on paper and entrusted it to me rather than simply send it across the Internet.
I had to admit to myself that I was curious as to the contents of the letter. Although I was artificial, Darius had made sure I was as near-human as it was possible to be for a gynoid like myself. I restrained myself, though. I had to prove that I was worthy of Darius’ trust.
“Look, Mommy! A robot!” piped a small voice somewhere behind me. I closed my eyes and forced myself to stay relaxed. Children infuriated me for some reason.
“Shh, honey. She’ll hear you. It’s not nice to point.” The child’s mother was whispering to it frantically, evidently unaware that my hearing was about twenty times better than the most sensitive human’s. I opened my eyes again and kept walking, deliberately not looking backwards. Interestingly enough, it seemed there was something about me that gave away the fact I was artificial. Even though my physical appearance was identical to that of a normal teenage human, there must have been something, because everyone I met seemed to identify me immediately as being inhuman.
“But robots don’t care, do they, Mommy? Robots are all nice, so they won’t mind!”
“Well – oh!” There was a patter of small feet behind me, followed shortly by a tugging on my arm. The feeling was foreign and unwelcome. I reacted automatically, snatching my arm out of the child’s grasp and turning to glare at it. It would have been about two, and dressed in so many layers of puffy, woollen clothing that it was impossible to determine any semblance of gender. I gave it my best death glare. Nobody ever touched me. Ever. Nobody except Darius, of course.
The child grinned and approached again, reaching for me again. I stumbled backwards, thrown off slightly. Giggling, the child pursued me as I backpedalled a few steps. My instinct took over then, and I struck out, knocking the child flying. Its mother screamed and rushed over to where the child had fallen.
I relaxed slightly. There was no harm done. It wasn’t seriously hurt. I nodded in apology to the child’s mother before turning to leave.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I glanced back curiously. What? The woman had gathered up her child and was clutching it to her fiercely. “You can’t just do that! Who do you belong to?” I frowned in confusion. What was wrong here? Where was the forgiveness? Where was the calm, smiling acceptance that Darius always showed me?
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that,” I said calmly, but she didn’t seem to want to take that for an answer.
“Who owns you? You’re a robot; you have to tell me!” Theoretically, she was correct. Artificial beings like myself were bound to answer all questions directed at them by humans. If I had been a normal gynoid, I would have had to tell her.
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that,” I repeated. “Why is it you wish to know?”
“I want to know so I can sue him!” she screeched. “You’re a danger to humanity, and so is whatever lunatic owns you!” Nobody threatened Darius while I was around. Nobody.
The world turned red.
***
Infallible and comprehensive as they usually are, my memory banks are oddly blank for a while after this point. The next thing I remember is being reactivated by Darius.
***
January 24, 2167. 09:32:06
January 24, 2167. 09:32:06
“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble today, Anti,” Darius sighed as he came into focus. I was strapped, upright, to the operating station in Darius’ laboratory. The usual mess of wires, batteries, fragments of metal casing and soda cans was strewn around the dark room, lit only by a series of plasma screens on the wall, most of which were showing a golden beach in Hawaii. On the biggest one, however, I could see a life-sized rendering of myself in cutaway, exposing my inner workings. I was certainly an intricate creation, I reflected. Darius was right to be proud of himself for creating me.
I understood, however, that I was different. Darius made many androids and gynoids, but I was separate from the rest. I was an experiment. He had, against regulations, made me able to feel anger, hate and pain, as well as programming me to speak my mind. Normal gynoids were programmed simply to be bland, smiling servants who did what you told them, did it well, and did it without complaining. Darius told me he had created me to see if a gynoid could really live like a normal human; if it was possible for me to feel and think like he did.
To act like he did.
“What happened?” I asked. It was a loaded question, and I knew it. He sighed and stopped tinkering with the panel on my arm that he had been occupied with. He bowed his head silently for a moment, so that all I could see from my vantage point was his messy brown hair. He glanced up at me eventually, a serious, sad look in his eyes. I didn’t like that look at all. “What did I do? I remember nothing.”
He sighed again. “Anti, do you remember how I always thought it was better for you to feel all human emotions, not just the good ones?” I nodded silently, not trusting my voice to remain steady. There was a tone in Darius’ voice that spoke of infinite sorrow, of a void in his heart. “Perhaps . . . perhaps I was wrong. Maybe it would have been better if you had been . . . more like the others.”
“I . . . I don’t want to be like the others, Darius!” I protested. “What are you saying? Are you going to reprogram me?”
No! No, please! I want to stay like this! I want to stay . . . with you!
“No, Anti, I could never do that to you. I’m only going to tinker with you a little bit.” I could tell it was hurting him to say it. “You’ll remain in stasis for the rest of time. You will retain all your programming, but you will be unable to move or act. I was told to-” His voice cracked, and a tear ran down his cheek. He tried again. “I was told to destroy you.”
“Wh-what? Why?” I didn’t understand. What was Darius saying?
“I’m sorry, Anti,” he said. ‘I can’t let you continue to be active, or I’ll be in even more trouble than I am already. But I . . . can’t bring myself to destroy you. That would be like destroying a little bit of myself.” He stopped and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. It obviously wasn’t working. The tears were flowing more freely now, despite his efforts to control them.
“Goodbye, Anti,” he said softly. “It was fun. I’ll miss our little talks. But this is . . . for the best.” I started to ask him why, what I had done to deserve this, but before I could open my mouth, he reached forward and pressed the deactivate button on my exposed arm panel.
The world went dark.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t see or hear a thing. I was sure that I still strapped to the operating station, but it was impossible. All my external sensors had been deactivated, as well as the ability to move. I was dead to the world.
***
I fancy that I cried at that point. It is mere fancy, of course, for I was never able to cry in the first place, and all motor functions were turned off anyway. But if I had been human, I believe I would have. I would have sobbed my heart out.
Do I have a heart? Not in the sense that humans have a heart, but Darius made sure it was close enough. My central battery unit was situated in my chest, just to the left of my spine, where a human would have her heart. At times, when I was happy, I fancied I could hear it beating.
I have never heard it beating since Darius put me in stasis. It has been fifty years now, and I have spent that time wondering why. What possible reason could Darius have had for deactivating me like that? What could I have done that was so bad? And why wouldn’t he tell me? He had always trusted me before, so why not then? Why not when it mattered most of all? Perhaps he told himself he was saving me the pain of knowing what I had done. He wasn’t. Not knowing is worse than knowing, every time. What knowledge could be more horrible than this gulf within me, this empty void that threatens to consume me?
He had no right to withhold that information. He had no right . . .
***
June 12, 2161. 06 : 12 : 24
“Look, Anti,” whispered Darius softly, pulling back the indigo curtain covering the window. “Snow.” I was, of course, aware that it was snowing. I had noticed as soon as it started, several hours ago. But hearing Darius say it made it that much more special. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
It was. I had never seen snow up until this morning, and then in the dark. But now, the rising sun reflected off the icy white expanse and the ground shone with light. Snow was still falling from the clouds overhead, but it was just a light sprinkling, whereas before, it had been like a giant, falling sheet of white.
“It is,” I agreed. “I’ve never seen snow before, Darius.” He grinned, the light from the window bathing his face in white.
“That’s right. I’d forgotten about that! Let’s go outside,” he suggested, hooking a heavy jacket off a stand and heading for the door. Curious despite myself, I followed him.
I didn’t need a jacket, of course, seeing as I didn’t feel heat or cold. I couldn’t help but giggle while he struggled with the jacket. It was far too big for his seventeen-year-old body, and he was having trouble finding the arm holes. I took it off him, laughing, and helped him into it.
“Thanks, Anti,” he said, grinning, and pulled on a pair of gloves before trying to open the door, failing due to the lack of friction granted by the wool. I moved his hand out of the way and turned the knob. A blast of cold air rushed in like a starving animal, knocking Darius’ newly-donned beanie off his head and his glasses askew. “Hey!” he exclaimed, then laughed. I laughed with him, and despite the cold, despite not being able to feel the temperature, I felt warmth flood my body and soul, bringing me such joy as I had not felt before.
***
And never felt since. That was one of the happiest moments of my life; an innocent, joyful morning with Darius, smiling and laughing in the snow, happy and content with each other’s company.
But it lasted nowhere near as long as I should have. I have been alone for fifty years. Alone . . . How dare he leave me alone? I wanted to stay with him . . . I wanted to be with him forever . . .
***
No . . . why did he leave me? Why did he leave me here? I’m alone. There is an empty place in my heart without Darius. A cold, empty place, slowly filling with blackness.
Do I even have a heart? Perhaps not. But like a human, I feel, and as such, I must have some form of heart, even if not physically. I often wondered about this conundrum, but now I am sure of the answer. Yes, I do have a heart. I know this.
I know this because it is filling with ice.
I used to love Darius. I thought the world revolved around him. But he never cared for me. Not really. If he had – if he had cared about me, he would not have done this. He would not have left me here, alone, unseeing, unhearing. He would have found a way. If he had really cared for me like I cared for him, he would have found a way to keep me with him. He would have fought for all he was worth to keep me with him.
But evidently, he did not even care that much for me. He simply left me here to torment myself with eternally tightening spirals of pain.
If he had cared, he would have destroyed me. It would have saved me this pain.
The pain! I feel it. I feel nothing physically, of course, but my mind is wracked with spasms that I seem to feel throughout my entire body. Am I moving? Do my fists clench and unclench in agony? It seems to me, in my delirium, that they do.
If he had cared, he would have destroyed me. It would have been better.
But he didn’t care. He never cared for me.
I was never anything more than another robot to him. I loved him, and I foolishly thought he loved me. But I was never any different. If he had cared . . . if . . .
My existence is a whirling maelstrom of ‘if’s. Uncertainty swirls around me like a hurricane. I am in the eye of the storm, calm among the chaos. But it will not last. Soon, the storm will move, and I will be consumed. I must fight it!
I must . . . fight . . . the storm.