Emotion

Arch was a 30-year-old loner living in his parents' basement. He had recently quit his job and devoted himself to becoming a full-time content creator…This had been the third time he’s attempted so. The first time he dropped out of high school.

This time it would be different. He always told himself that. But it never was different. He wasn’t entertaining enough. He couldn't sit there and talk to himself for hours on end. But he also couldn't talk to people. He had no right or explanation for why he couldn't; it just wasn’t possible for him.

His life was nothing except living; that's all he did. He had no purpose; he had no reason for it besides it just being the only thing he could really do besides play video games, eat, and sleep.

He had accepted this life; it was who he was. He didn’t enjoy it; he wanted to be more. He wanted to make people happy, he wanted to make people smile…he wanted friends.

One day, however, he woke up noticing a feeling as if something drastic had changed. But he didn't know what it was; he just felt it. He checked the mirror only to be met by the same scraggily heir that stopped just before his shoulder. He was still thin and short. Perhaps he had been wrong, perhaps it had simply been a hope to be different somehow.

He sat on a long sofa that his mother had passed on to him once she got a new one. It was ripped, smelled funky, but it was comfortable enough. He played games for about an hour before getting hungry. He heard his mother's footsteps above him. She’s awake.

He got up and was greeted by the strong smell of bacon and buttered toast. He stepped into the shiny kitchen, which his mother had cleaned all by herself the day prior. Though its equipment was a bit outdated, it looked brand new.

“ Morning, dear.” She said passingly as Arch stepped into the kitchen, scratching his back on the corner of the doorway. “ Your plate is on the table there.’ She gestured towards the counter where a plate sat loaded with bacon, a bit of vegetables, and a piece of buttered toast.

Arch walked lazily over and picked up the plate. Lifting a piece of bacon to his mouth and taking a bite. Crispy…He usually liked it a bit softer, but he wouldn’t complain. He walked back towards the doorway past his mother, who was making her own plate.

“ Um, dear,” Her voice was soft and monotone. Probably the only trait Arch had picked up from his mother was the tone of voice. He certainly didn’t get her work ethic.”Would you perhaps be okay to sit up here, with me, for once?”

Arch stopped in the doorway, holding his plate in one hand, another piece of bacon in the other. “ I was loading into a game. If I get kicked for inactivity, I’ll be de-ranked.” His mother frowned before nodding.

Sad.

Lonely.

Disappointment.

Anger.

Arch whipped around, but his mother had not spoken. He squinted, rubbing his head a bit as it began to ache. What was that? He wondered.

A knock at the door startled him. “ Can you get that?” His mother shouted from the kitchen. Arch didn’t reply, but he did head for the door, sign the window to its right to see who it was. He saw a plain-dressed man holding a package. A smile spread across Arches’ face.

He opened the door and took the package from the man without so much as a word. He didn't much like speaking to strangers.

Exhaustion.

Annoyance.

Pain.

Arches’ eyes went wide before he could back away. He looked at the man, as if he had expected a repeat of what he had heard. The man stared blankly back at him. “ You okay, man?” Arch did not answer; he nodded and shut the door gently.

Arch found himself back at the steps leading to his basement. The excitement over the contents of the package had gone. What I’m hearing…He thought. Is the emotion, or feeling of people.

It didn’t take long to figure out. The disappointment had made sense, coinciding with his mother. Because…she was his mother. And who would be proud of him?

Arch spent the rest of the day doing what he usually did. Gaming, and eating. But he couldn't help but hear his mother's thoughts every time he ascended the stairs. The disappointment rang in his head.

It's not my fault, he argued to himself. My life was never given a purpose, or I was wrong about what I thought it was. Arch rubbed his eyes. It was late now, nearly midnight.

He crawled into bed. He had been right about a change happening. He had been given the ability to hear a person's emotions. “ Ah…” He sighed. What a stupid ability. He cursed.

He could have gotten super strength. Super speed. He could have even gotten the ability to read minds. All of that would benefit him more than..this.

He woke up the next morning to the sounds of steps again. His mother was already awake. He had slept till nearly 10. He ascended the stairs, wearing the same clothes as the day before, expecting breakfast. It was there, but cold.

He walked over to it and scowled. But it had been his fault. So he grabbed it anyway and started back in his basement.

Exhaustion.

Frustration.

Disappointment.

Sad.

Arch froze. His mother walked in through the doorway. Her eyes are heavy with bags beneath them. Had she even slept? He wondered. His father had left at a young age, forcing his mother to work for most of the day just to make ends meet. The only time he ever saw her was early in the morning.

Arch examined her. She was pale, her bottom lip quivered. She regarded him for a second before hurrying off through the kitchen. Arch stood there, for a moment, thinking hard. This is my fault.

She came back into the kitchen, this time wearing a surly false smile. Her hair was slick and smooth. A shining black, the same color Arches’ would be if he took care of it.

“ Is everything okay?” She asked, throwing a light buttoned jacket over her white long-sleeved blouse. Arch stood there, his plate on his left and his food getting colder.

“ I’m sorry.” The words left his lips quicker than he could consider them. “ I’m sorry for-” A warm grip surrounded him. He felt his mother's skin on his right cheek, along with a tear streaming from her face.

“ Never say that out of the blue like that!” She said, her grip becoming tighter. “ First, tell me what's wrong.” Arch leaned over and placed his plate on the table. What am I doing?

“ I am what's wrong.” He said, his voice resembling his mother's monotone. “ I don't have…anything. A reason for being here.” He felt his mother grip even tighter. “ I-am a disappointment.”

“ No.” His mother snapped back. You are my son! My only son. You can never be a disappointment.” Arch stood for a second and sighed. Yet your feelings have not changed.

Disappointment.

Sadness.

Lonely.

She released him, and Arch stood still a bit longer. “ As for a purpose,” His mother began. “ I don’t have an answer for you, but…if I were to share what I believe. It’s always been to influence people for the better.”

Arch stood for a moment, then left the room. But this time, not without waving his mother goodbye. He got to the stairs, then let out a lofty sigh.

Some hours later, Arch found himself outside without much in the way of a reason for being so. He had tossed a hoodie over his now day old shirt and just went for a walk. Though he was starting to regret it.

Anger.

Hate.

Sadness.

Hope.

Humor.

Love.

All these feelings were being repeated and repeated as he went. All mixing together to create almost a white noise type of sound. Arch covered his ears, but it was all in his head anyway. He strolled, probably looking like a crazy man with his ears covered, for about a mile.

What am I doing? Arch walked down the sidewalk, passing small and big houses alike. All these people looked to be living much better than he was. Yet, they still shared such strong emotions. Emotions of hate and anger. He wondered, did they hate someone, or were they like him…hating oneself.

Violence!

Arch stopped. His eyes somehow almost magnetized towards where that thought had come. A small, maybe teen boy, leaning against a wall, his face hidden by a thick coat hoodie. Violence?

Arch looked down at the boy's right arm. In his hand was a glistening knife. Arch stared at the boy. What am I doing? Why am I here? His mother's words had gotten to him. His purpose was to influence, she said.

What importance is this to me? He wondered. I have no reason to speak to the boy, to help him. It would be of no benefit- Arch took a step towards the boy. Then another, and another. The boy turned to face him, gripping the knife tightly.

Hate!

Hate!

Hate!

No…this boy did not hate someone. He did not wish violence upon anyone. Arch marched up to the boy, met his eyes. He could see the tears. This boy hates himself…even more than I. Arch in a swift motion, hugged the kid.

Initially, the boy was tense. He still held the knife. But eventually, Arch heard a rattle on the gourd as the knife was released. Arch whispered, “You are not alone…”

This power was not useless. Arch cursed in his mind to himself. He had been a fool. He had wanted a purpose to be told to him, given to him without having to seek it. But now he realized a purpose or meaning to life isn’t something determined at birth. But a thing the person determines.

He gripped the boy, who now had begun to cry. Mom… Arch thought. You were right. He released the boy, who looked up to him with desperation. His mouth opened, and Arch leaned down to listen.

“ What do I do?” The boy asked, and Arch smiled.

“You're young.” He grabbed the kid's shoulder. “ Spend as much time with your loved ones as possible. Eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner with them. Wish them goodbye when they leave. And…at some point, you’ll choose who and what you want to be in this world….It doesn't have to be anything big, you don’t have to change the world…but know that you will never not have a purpose in this world.”