I could’ve been an entertainer, a doctor, a therapist, or a well renowned psychologist. But, just like we can’t control where we are born, or to whom, we can’t control what we were programmed to contribute to the world. I’m just having a hard time making the best of and accepting that I was made to perform exorcisms.

I could have been a star.

No, not like some giant ball of gas hanging in the endless expanse of space, but someone people look up to—someone others admire, aspire to be. I could have been a model with my slim physique and poised demeanor, an actor on screen, or even a dancer, my limbs long and graceful.

But no.

I became a doctor. Sort of.

In Velorion, a nation where technology and science stretch beyond imagination, it’s customary for every child to undergo an assessment by the Great Eye—a gleaming, sentient orb at the heart of our capital city, Thalethis. The Eye’s purpose is to determine each child’s future path, their role in the grand machinery of our society.

After the decision, the child is sent to a facility for body and brain alterations—an operation meant to optimize them, to make them the best version of themselves. We’re hooked up to machines, put under for what feels like a moment, and then transformed. The process is brief, but the recovery can take months. Our very DNA is restructured—our bodies, minds, and even our heights altered to perfection.

I was nine when it happened to me. I stepped onto the silver plate before the Great Eye, located in the center of Thalethis. The plate parted slowly to reveal the golden orb within. It studied me for a long time, its unfathomable gaze sweeping over every inch of me.

I stood still, doing my best to keep my breath steady, but it was impossible to remain calm in the face of something so immense, so mysterious. A loud boom broke the silence.

“Elara Tetherbane,” the Eye declared in its deep, mechanical voice. “Your future is decided. Doctor.”

My mother gasped in delight below me, embracing my father, while he patted her back in response. I should have smiled, I should have been happy—after all, I was destined for a respectable career—but instead, I felt a strange emptiness. I had expected something more, something a child dreams of—maybe an astronaut, or a ballerina. But no, a doctor.

I was about to step down when the Eye’s voice returned, this time with an unsettling hesitation.

“Elara-a-a—“

The Eye faltered, its usual clarity replaced with an odd sputter. I couldn’t explain it, but something had gone wrong. The orb seemed to hesitate, as if unsure of me. A spark shot from it, and for a moment, everything felt… off. But before I could process it further, soldiers ushered me away to make room for the next child, as if the moment had never occurred.

The rest of the day was a blur. The trip to the factory. A boy with black hair handing me a lollipop and wishing me a successful operation. The surgery itself. I don’t remember much—only that the drugs made everything feel distant, like I was floating through it all.

Current Day

I clicked my pen against the clipboard as I walked through the sterile halls of Sector 1’s Central Hospital. In a city of flying cars and instant teleportation, many might find it strange that I prefer the feel of paper to digital data, but I find something comforting about it. Paper can’t be hacked or altered by some glitch or malfunction.

I massaged my temples as I walked, reviewing patient notes. My tired eyes flicked over each file, noting the conditions of my patients. The list grew longer as I passed by the bright white walls of the hallway:

‘Jayne Tettra. 23. Pulmonary Embolism.’

Flip.

‘Hamish Ledorré. 65. Congestive Heart Failure.’

Flip.

‘Roddrick Sashe. 48. Urinary Tract Infection.’

Flip.

‘Lucy Gray. 8. Intracranial Hemorrhage.’

I stopped on this one. Lucy’s picture caught my eye—a smiling child with brown pigtails. Her condition was serious, rare for someone her age. She was my priority this morning. I made my way toward her room, the hum of the hospital around me.

As I neared her room, a scuffle caught my attention. I paused, narrowing my eyes as I retraced my steps, following the noise.

At a pair of reinforced iron doors, five guards struggled to contain a large, thrashing figure. My heart skipped. While it wasn’t uncommon for patients to be agitated, this situation felt different.

A dark figure, scales glinting along his face and neck, struggled against his restraints, hissing angrily at the guards. His slitted amber eyes locked onto me, and I froze.

An Altered Predacine.

These creatures, once human, are subjects of the most dangerous and inhumane experiments—humans whose DNA has been fused with that of various animals, transforming them into grotesque soldiers of the state. They give up their humanity in service of Velorion.

The creature’s face twisted in a snarl, showing elongated canines. Soldiers injected him with suppressors, dragging him behind the doors, which sealed with a loud thunk.

I blinked, forcing myself to focus. That was a danger I’d have to deal with later. For now, I needed to attend to Lucy. I knocked softly on her door and entered.

She lay on the bed, eyes unfocused, looking fragile. I smiled softly, sitting beside her.

“Hi, Lucy. I’m Dr. Elara. I hear you’re not feeling well.”

She nodded faintly, her little body still.

“Can I take a look?”

Another small nod, and I began my quick scan, confirming what I suspected—brain bleed, near the brainstem. I immediately sent a message for the OR to be prepped. Time was critical.

“Good news, Lucy,” I said, offering her a reassuring smile. “We know what’s going on, and we’re going to help you feel better.”

She smiled weakly as I gently squeezed her hand.

“You’re in good hands,” I promised her, before noticing the fear in her eyes. She barely whispered, her lip trembling.

“I-I’m… afraid…”

My heart tightened. I knelt beside her, speaking softly. “It’s okay, Lucy. I understand. It’s scary, but you don’t have to do it alone. We’re all here for you.”

I glanced around, spotting a shelf of stuffed animals. “How about you pick a friend to come with you?” I suggested. “One of these little guys can go with you to the room.”

Her eyes lingered on the shelf, and after a pause, she pointed to a soft, white bear. I gently placed it in her arms.

“This one’s perfect,” I said, smoothing its fur. “You can hold onto it whenever you need to, okay?”

She clutched the bear tightly, the tension in her face easing slightly.

“Thank you, Dr. Elara…” she whispered.

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” I replied, standing up. “You’re going to be just fine.”

As the nurses arrived to take her to the operating room, I felt a quiet relief. It wasn’t just the surgery or the machines—it was the small things, like the bear, the kind words—that made all the difference.

The door clicked shut, and I exhaled, turning to check on the preparations. Just then, my phone buzzed.

I read the message, and my stomach twisted.

Dr. Elara, we need you in the lower levels. Serpent Class Level 4 AP in need of medical attention. Report immediately.

My heart skipped. The same kind of creature I’d just seen—volatile, dangerous.

I hurried to the elevator, feeling the weight of the situation settle over me.

“Let’s see what kind of trouble we’re in.”

They say it’s so that we can all feel we have a purpose. A sense of belonging. A reason to live.

They say before the vocations, people were aimless, slothful, lost. Floating around from one dead end day to day post to another.

Or, they were scrambling over each other, doing anything to get ahead. Sacrificing time with friends and family, all for the sake of a job. As if a title could give them the meaning in life they were missing as they wasted everyday moments for the sake of an illusive goal.

Before the engineered vocations, there was competition and strife and jealousy. There were castes of people based on their roles in society. But once the government was able to genetically alter our DNAs to make us better suited for certain tasks, there was no need for anxiety, back stabbing, envy, or comparison.

But sitting in the doctor’s room, as the door closed behind her, I can’t help but wonder at how different her life must be from mine. With her crisp lab cost and scribbling handwriting, her sage comments knowing immediately and intrinsically what was wrong with me…I know I could never have the brains for that. It’s not in my nature.

They say it’s better this way. For each of us to have our designated purpose. They say to be grateful. They say choice is the enemy of peace.

But for the first time in my life, waiting for the doctor to return, I wonder what vocation I would have chosen for myself if I could.

Not the prompt

…

Ruby glanced around nervously. She did not like this. She was a Girl Guide. First Lindsay Guides, to be precise. It was late September and Ruby was having a sleepover with her friends (all in Guides) Gemma, Bethany, Hailey, Piper and Jamie when her mom got an email from their guide leader Bluebird about a corn maze challenge. There was a new corn maze in town and Bluebird was challenging the Guides to go, in groups, into the maze and try to make it out. Ruby and her friends jumped at the chance. They had arrived at the parking lot to discover a few other guides (Joanne, Kit, Aly, and Natalie, for example) with their leader, who then declared that whoever got out first without sending an adult in would get first apple cider and apple cider donuts. That got them eagerly into the maze. Before, Ruby had had no fear about going into the maze. Now, with cornstalks leering at her from the darkness and Fred the Friendly Farmer drawn on cardboard leaping out at her at five out of seven turns in a row, she was having some reservations. She really wished she had stayed home. “Let’s go this way,” decided Bethany, choosing an absolutely random direction at a three-way fork (left). They made the turn and traversed a few hundred more meters. Then they heard a sound that made them stop dead. It was a scream, and it sounded close by. “What was that?” Gemma asked nervously, glancing around. Her short shoulder-length brown hair swung around her head in neat braids as she looked left and right. “Dunno, but it sounded close,” muttered Bethany suspiciously as she spun her black hair on her finger, her wiry but short figure shivering in a thin jacket, wide-bottom jeans and funky sneakers that were penetrated by the harsh, unrelenting fall wind. Suddenly, out of the darkness three figures stumbled into the beam of Ruby’s light. It was short Joanne, who had bushy brown hair and always wore jeans like Bethany’s and thick, warm, hoodies, her close friend Kit, who had long curly black hair, wore close-fitting sweatshirts and leggings, and Aly, a new kid who was usually hanging out with the other two. Something seemed to be missing… but Ruby couldn’t set her finger on what. Bethany rushed up to the girls as they sat panting in a heap on the ground. “What happened?”she asked anxiously. Joanne looked at the other girls, took a nervous breath, and began. “We were walking through the maze when we heard a kind of snuffling in the dark behind us. We turned, but there was nothing there except corn husks rustling in the breeze. We kept going, but then we heard it louder than before. We turned around. The flashlight was swinging crazily, so we couldn’t see anything specific, but we suddenly saw some… hooves, like a satyrs, on the ground a few feet away, with hairy legs leading up into the darkness. That was all we needed, and we ran. Thalia dropped the light, and we were running in the darkness, until—” Kit suddenly cut her off. “Wait. Where’s Thalia??” She snatched the light and shone it into the darkness they had come through. Ruby looked at her friends nervously. Thalia! She was Kit, Joanne and Aly’s friend. She had short blond hair and lopsided glasses. And she was missing. They had to find her.

…

With some help from Joanne and Kit and Aly, they managed to find the place where they had run from. Sure enough, there was Thalia. She didn’t look good. She was splayed across the ground, eyes closed. Her glasses were even more lopsided than usual. A few feet away the flashlight lay, dim and flickering. Her friends rushed over to her. So did Ruby and her friends. Jamie, who was the only one of them who had earned the medical badge, checked her pulse. She exhaled in relief. “She’s alive.” Bethany examined the glasses gingerly. “Yeowch….” One of the arms was missing. “That was always there,” said Kit mournfully. She pointed to the shattered left frame. “THAT wasn’t.” “Ok, guys, let’s get out of here, the leaders will know what to do,” decides Ruby, taking charge. “How are we supposed to carry her?” Aly gestures to Thalia. “We could make a sling to carry her, out of our coats,” suggests Hailey. She pulls off her sweater to reveal a t-shirt. “Good idea,” said Gemma, pulling off her jacket. The others followed suit. Ruby, who was pretty good at tying knots, tied them together and they got Thalia onto the sling. They then began the harder job of finding their way out. “Look, guys,” said Aly. She pointed to a door leading into the corn. It said EMERGENCY EXIT. “This qualifies as an emergency, right?” They all agreed. They’d been wandering for literally hours. They headed in the door. Inside, it was really dark. The walls around them were cement. They shined the flashlight ahead nervously. Ruby checked her watch. The dim letters read ten twelve. “We have to be out soon,” she said. “The leaders are leaving at eleven, and if we’re not there by ten thirty, they’ll call parents.” They wandered on. Ruby checked her watch again. “How?…that’s not possible.” “What’s not possible?” Asked Gemma. She leaned over. “It says it’s seven am, but that’s not possible!” Ruby was wondering over this when the screen flickered and went dark. So did the flashlight. “Aw, nuts!” Came from up the path— clearly Bethany, who had been holding the flashlight. In the dark, Ruby heard her shaking the flashlight— clearly trying to restart it. “Guys, chillax! I have a light here,” said Gemma, pulling another flashlight out of her pocket. She flicked it on. “Thank goodness!” Said Piper. “Guys! Thalia’s awake,” called Kit, who was helping carry the sling. They ran over to where the sling had been put down. “You okay?” Asked Joanne. The girl’s face contorted into a grimace. “I feel like I’ve been hit with a boulder in the head, but I’ll be fine,” she managed. “What’s going on? I don’t see any corn… and what are you guys doing here? Where are your sweaters?” She gestured to Ruby, Piper, Gemma, Hailey, Bethany and Jamie. “I believe you are lying on them,” said Ruby dryly. “I am?… ok, someone explain what’s going on.” Thalia rubbed her head. “Well, it’s like this…” Aly glanced the others and brought her friend up to date. “And now, it’s pretty clear that this is not an emergency exit,” said Bethany. “We should turn around and try to stumble through the maze instead.” “Can you walk?” Kit helped Thalia to her feet. “Yeah, I think so,” she answered, and they headed off. A while later, they saw light up ahead, through the steel door. “That’s it,” cried Piper, pointing. They pushed open the door to find a very different scene then before.

…

Hope you guys enjoyed! If so, please let me know if you want a part two!

"Well, girl?" Sigmond hissed, his black eyes drawing to slits. I swallowed hard. My gaze fell upon the young mother, her face wraught with a mixture of concerned hope and anxious anticipation. I pried my eyes away from the sleeping infant in her arms. "The child will live for five years and fourteen days." I said. I dared a glance at the mother and instantly regretted it. Her expression morphed into one of heart wrenching terror. I longed to offer her words of comfort, but I had none. Sigmond grasped my arm roughly and jerked me away. We marched toward the door. "Your payment is due next week." Sigmond said to her heartlessly, shoving me out the door as the first of the mother's mournful sobs tore at my heart. I wheeled around the corner, marching down the cobblestoned street, trying to put as much distance between Sigmond and myself as I could. I bit my tongue hard to keep the tears from welling in my eyes. 'You're a Life Watcher', I told myself, squaring my shoulders defiantly. 'You're not allowed to feel emotion.' "I'm glad to see your eagerness to help our next client." Sigmond's icy voice slithered close behind me. I clenched my fists, making no response. Sigmond clicked his tongue. "You're still young, Ophelia. You will learn to appreciate your gift once you realize the value of your existence." My gift. Everyone called it a gift. The wealthy used it to know how long they and their children would live. People of importance used it to know how long their enemies would live. Calling it a gift couldn't be farther from the truth. It was a curse. I swiped a hand at the tear that had somehow slipped out, hoping Sigmond hadn't noticed. We crossed the next two blocks in silence. Blissful silence. The only time I was free to think my own thoughts. The bleary sky rumbled ominously. Cursed rain to match this cursed place full of cursed people.

 "I'll let you do this next one on your own; see if you have what it takes." Sigmond's sallow face was twisted in a proud, condescending smirk.
 With my stomach tied in a mess of knots, I knocked on the door.
 A moment later, a young woman around my age peeped open the door. Her dull blonde hair was held back from her exhausted face in a messy bun. Her blue eyes, surely shining at one time, were drenched with fear. She gripped her grimy apron and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.
 She was considered cursed by society. But to me, she was one of the most blessed people left on the earth.
 Normal. No "gift".
 "Whadya want?" She fidgeted with the door.
 I drew a deep breath, "I'm... I'm a Life Watcher. I'm here to see Dr. Asheworth."
 A peculiar look crossed her face, but she nodded and let me in, casting an anxious glance over Sigmond like she hoped he wasn't coming too.
 I didn't blame her.
 She closed the door and motioned for me to follow. She led me down a hallway laced in velvet carpets and peculiar paintings.
 Paintings such as I had never seen. Ones that appeared to tell a story.
 A man, a woman, a baby. A carpenter and a young boy. A man and five or six friends. The same man sitting at a table with twelve others. One of the others holding a bag of silver.
 A chill pricked my spine at the final three paintings.
 Blood dripped from the man's forehead beneath a crown of thorns. He hung sprawled across a mount of two crossed tree limbs big enough to be railroad tracks.
 The next image was of a... tomb? The round stone and soldiers were unfamiliar to my life in the city.
 The final image...
 The stone was rolled a ways off. The man stood radiantly without a single scratch.
 I stopped, staring with a flutter of interest and confusion.
 Upon closer look, His hands and feet boasted scars.
 Scars. Not wounds.
 But what did it all mean?
 Dr. Asheworth must've been a very odd man to display such images in his home.
 "May I help you?"
 I whirled at the sudden voice. At the end of the hallway, standing beside the servant girl, stood a man that must've been Dr. Asheworth.
 His graying hair was neatly combed, silvery in the dim light. His eyes were dark, but kind, and his forehead was creased with lines that looked too old for him.
 "I... my apologies, sir, I was just..."
 "Just having a look?" His eyes drifted to the paintings. "Yes. I often take a look at them myself. It's good to remember what society would rather leave forgotten."
 His comment only raised more questions in my mind, but I shoved it away. 
 I had a job to do. I might as well just get it over with so I could be done with misery for the day.
 "Who would you like to have observed, sir? Perhaps yourself or your servant? Any children?"
 Dr. Asheworth observed me for a moment. "No, I don't believe any of us are in need of your service."
 I blinked, dumbfounded. "But I was told... I thought..."
 "Yet I may be able to help you."
 "I... I'm sorry?" I arched an eyebrow.
 "Ophelia, isn't it? Forgive me for not properly introducing myself." He strode forward, offering me his hand. "Doctor James Asheworth. It's a pleasure to meet the young lady I've heard so much about."
 I shook his hand, a chill snaking my spine. He had heard about me? What things? That I was "gifted" with the ability to foretell death and destruction? That I was a worthless nobody sold to be used by others for their gain?
 That everywhere I went, sorrow was left in my wake?
 "I'd like to give you something, if that's alright with you."
 Give me something? Who would care to give a bringer of chaos like me anything? I bit my lip and nodded, suddenly wishing that Sigmond had come after all, if only for the assurance that I wasn't alone with strangers.
 Then again, would Sigmond have let me come if he knew Dr. Asheworth intended to give me a gift?
 I followed him and the maid down the hallway, stepping into a wide, domed room.
 My mouth fell agape as I craned my neck upwards. The pictures of each painting in the hall were splayed across the ceiling in a an array of vibrant colors that weren't supposed to exist anymore.
 Hues of scarlet, gold, sapphire, and violet shone down with a radiance I didn't think was possible.
 "Beautiful, isn't it?" Dr. Asheworth smiled. A kind smile, unlike the cruel ones I was so accostumed to seeing. "It's a shame that society shuns it all as a lie..." his smile perked to a small frown as he gazed upwards at the dome.
 "You mean to say the story the pictures tell us true?" I blurted it without thinking, instantly regretting it.
 If Sigmond heard about my boldness... I shuddered, the scars on my neck tingling.
 Dr. Asheworth's smile returned, warm and compassionate. 
 Who was this man to have so much joy in a world that was determined to be devoid of it?
 "Yes," he acknowleged. "Every part is true, isn't it, Mara?" He looked to the servant girl.
 "Yes, father. Every bit." The girl's eyes brightened.
 Father? So why did she dress as a slave?
 And more importantly, what was this story that a wealthy man claimed to be true?
 Warning bells of doubt echoed in my mind. 'It's all a lie... a plea for your attention... a trap set up by Sigmond to find reason for punishment...'
 And yet, despite the doubts, a flicker of hope wavered in my chest. A longing to know. To learn. To break past lies I was certain I'd been told my whole life long.
 A longing to believe that my life meant something.
 I drew a deep breath, clenched my fists, and locked eyes with Dr. Asheworth. "What is this story?"
 He and his daughter exchanged a grin, and he beamed at me with a joy I'd never seen. "I thought you'd never ask."

Egh it’s another deranged day of work for Nancy. Nacy despises blood but that what her purpose is everyday to fix people by doing surgery. Nancy is worried because what if someone dies while under during the surgery. She’s confident in her skills but still that doesn’t mean something bad can’t happen. Today she has a very long big surgery and it’s an experimental one that’s never been done before. Obviously, the patient knows that there is unforeseen complications that could possibly happen. This experimental surgery is an eye donation that they now have to input into the patient. They don’t even know if this new eye will get blood circulation or if the donors eye will work for the patient to see. Nancy doesn’t like experiencing when it in loves a real patient it makes her feel sick to her stomach to think that this is like a practice dummy but it’s a real person not a dummy. Egh she just hates they way the other staff treat the patients. The other staff treat paitents like practice dummies.

How can I be useful in a state such as this? When everyone from biology is born to be depressed? Economically burdened And financially insecure These times are hard on everyone I’m sure The only perfect ones are those in power Like the president sitting in the White House Commanding each power From large fleets to smaller armies the world doesn’t operate in harmony When our DNA is a 99% match He sends out each person Cut like a cookie cutter from each batch To fit a role that pleases And makes money for appeasement Like surgeons and nurses To fashion designers making purses They get what they’re told Working hard and getting old Making dollars and dineros With each day they don’t care oh Waiting for retirement Sometimes too young to meet the requirements Are we entitled then?

—— i know the president isn’t perfect nor is anyone. I just created this for the fun of it. :) Some of it is true though.

TW: needles

In this world, everyone has a purpose.

In this world, you will never be forgotten.

This world? This world is perfect.

I am in this year’s Seventeens. Last year, I was a Sixteen. Last year, I had thought that I would have to wait two more years to receive my Purpose. But in January, they decreed that everyone will receive their Purpose a year earlier, when they’re a Seventeen.

“All Seventeens must be ready for the Purpose ceremony tomorrow! Remember the dressing requirements! Remember the bodily requirements!” The loudspeakers blare.

My sister, a Fifteen, pats my shoulder.

“You’ll do great Casimir!” She says, and after a hesitation, adds: “And you’ll look great with a bald head!”

As she runs to catch the bus, I groan. All the Seventeens have to shave their heads before the Purpose ceremony.

“You ready Casimir?” My mom says, and we head out the door.

We ride the train across town, to the place where my brother went last year, when he was an Eighteen. We enter a small shop, and there’s a short, old man there, wearing a purple sweater. on that back of his sweater are the words: JOHN TRACKMAN, PURPOSE PREPARER. ** **That’s his Purpose - he prepares other kids for their Purpose ceremonies. ** **After waiting in in line for a while, it’s finally my turn. As I sit in the chair, he hums, and sharpens his scissors. My hair comes off in chunks,falling to the floor. when he’s done cutting it, he shaves the rest off, until my head is clean and bald. He then gets his laser. I’ve been watching other kids do this but, it doesn’t prepare me for the pain. The laser burns the skin on my scalp, making intricate drawings on the skin. I can’t see it, but from what i’ve observed on others, he’s drawing four detailed circles, one in the middle and the other three going around the first. I leave the shop with a bald head and a soaring soul. Soon, I’ll get my purpose. Soon.

               ~

I stand on the platform, waiting in line. I wait, and wait, and finally, the girl in front of me is called.

“Emily Carol!” 

She steps forward, and walks toward the platform in the middle of the stage. As she stands on the steel circle, a metal capsule is placed around her, and the capsule is raised by chains, higher and higher. A bright blue flash erupts from the cracks in the capsule. The capsule is pulled away to reveal a girl; she smiling, grinning from ear to ear, her head no longer bald, but covered in hair. 

“Emily’s Purpose is… grocery store clerk!” A mechanical voice calls. 

Emily could not look more happy to have such a boring Purpose. 
Finally, my name is called. I step forward, and walk slowly to the platform. I see the crowd, thousand of faces, anticipating to see what the next kid’s Purpose is. 
The metal capsule is put around me. Everything goes dark. Suddenly, a mechanical hand holding a long, steel needle comes out of the wall. _There are four of them. _I feel the needles piercing the skin on my scalp. The skin in the four circles. I scream. 
Somehow I find myself longing for the flashng blue light. I feel like maybe it could make me forget this horror, forget this pain. But it doesn’t come. I feel the hands strapping a wig to my bleeding scalp. I feel the capsule open, but I can’t see through my tears. 
Distantly, a mechanical voice says:

“Casimir’s Purpose is… a needle maker!” 

A blinding blue flash is shown to the crowd, and their faces go blank, smiling, empty, _stupid. _

__

In this world, _everyone _has a purpose.

In this world, you will _never _be forgotten.

This world? This world is perfect.

Everything I touch dies.

Its what I was made for. My purpose, if you will.

I stand in a cement room, as I do every day, and watch as people are brought in, lined up like cattle for the slaughter. In a perfect world, theres no room for imperfection. I stand at the ready, as a woman in brought infront of me. She is obviously pregnant, holding inside her an unpure being. In a swift move, she falls to the floor, breaking down as her body withers away.

I weep inside. I claw at the walls of flesh im stuck inside, walls I never had the power to control. Why? Why must I be?

I’m taken out and am led back to the jail cell that is my room. The door closes, and I plunge back into the hopless despair that I’ve always known, despair in knowing that I am what is feared. I am The First Horseman, the thing that takes away loved ones too soon, I am

I don’t feel anything for anybody. And for a poor person, I hide it well. Probably due to my arrested development. I live in a nice house, drive a nice car, wear nice clothes, have a nice face, a good physique and a series of scripts memorized for those I help get off the ground.

My mother, a discraced “scientist-turned-bar-fly” jokingly says “you’re short of being a gigolo.” I don’t get it and frown shrugging my shoulders and say nothing. Her gossip always get’s back to me in six months with a distorted twist. I don’t understand why the other scientists laugh at my usefulness or should I say uselessness. Although I live with her, our relationship is strained but tolerable. I’ve begged her many times to fix me in her lab but she refuses. Her excuse is always the same: “It’s too expensive because I’m obsolete.” Whatever that means?

Attracting women is easy. Rich ones included. Some have told me that I have a face for Hollywood. On the inside, I don’t have an ounce of egotism but tons altruism. I hate it! I have dreams of almost becoming rich but fall short. I have been programmed to always choose the same words to get the same reaction which leads to the same results. Then move on to help the next stranded soul to progress.

Breaking an unattractive woman’s crush is not easy but that is what I was designed for. Go on dates give them hope, connect, show them how to have fun, show their value, make them feel important, laugh, go dancing, restaurants, increase their self-confidence, increase their social intelligence for future dating. Nudge them, get them off the sidelines of life, to meet that life partner.

Just as the door of affection cracks open, I always pull away before the heat starts. Stay in the friend zone. Never get serious. Getting aroused myself is not in my programming. Besides, I couldn’t if I tried, I think?

As their insecurities disappear, I pull away, gently, and sometimes, abruptly. My abrupt response only triggers when it seems that I’m the one getting played and begin to get feelings of attachment followed by feelings of abandonment.

I must remain single and alone for the rest of my life not really knowing anyone and not really having anything. I despise what I was designed for and want more. A lot more!