By S. Clarke
My eyes glanced down at the simmering pan of meat, the handle of which I grasped in my hands, and the sweet fumes of spices, combined with the sounds of popping grease, filled my tiny apartment with a bit of life. As usual, I wasn’t quite sure what time I was taking my meal, though, as I glanced over my shoulder at the faintly illuminated darkness outside the single window at the end of the hall, if I had to make an educated guess, it seemed to be past midnight. The prospect of mental effort lit an alarm in the corners of my mind, causing my head to shake slightly, sending unkept strands across my vision. These days, life seemed more like a dream than reality; at times, I felt it was impossible to distinguish between the images that flashed through the back of my brain and those from the world around me. I let out a light sigh as my thoughts continued to spiral.
Did it even matter? What difference was a dream from reality anyway? Wasn’t our brain just making it up as we went along anyway? In my case, it just happened to be slightly better at improv than the average person! Yeah, that’s it! Reaching this conclusion, I finally noticed my eyes stinging and the scent of charcoal filling my nose. Tilting my head downwards, I saw small licks of flame jumping up from the pan, seemingly in an effort to join those coming from the stove below. Hurriedly, I ran to the other side of the room, still grasping the pan, and threw on a metal lid, killing the fire in its infancy. As I set the pan back down on the stove, I squinted softly, lifting the lid once more, expecting the worst.
Inside, the slivers of meat were covered in a thin layer of charred and crusted spices, but the meat itself had only been lightly seared by the heat, causing the tension in my body to release in a moment as I slumped down on the small, cracked counter next to the stove. With a side glance, I pulled a paper plate next to me and twisted my wrist to let the food in the pan slide out onto the plate with a plop. Letting out a deep breath, I stumbled backwards onto one of two worn wooden chairs sitting across from a small table of similar material next to the window.
I suppose it could have been worse, but my own mind really was quite the distraction sometimes, tisk
I didn’t bother to peer out the window, not that the streetlights would have let me see much anyway. As I ripped apart the chicken on my plate.
I knew in the back of my mind that the steam gliding off the meat meant it was likely hot, but if my body had noticed, my mind was too preoccupied with nothingness to care. Just as I was relishing in gulping down the meal, a silent thud sounded from the door at the other end of the room.
I had heard it plainly, but it likely had nothing more to do with than any other bump in the night, and this food wasn’t going to wait for me before getting cold. Yet I had barely begun to take another bite when the thud turned into a series of measured knocks, followed by a calm voice resonating beyond them.
“Might you let me in? I’ve been waiting patiently for you to have a moment of calm. There are a few things I wish to discuss.”
The voice I could recognize, though its origin eluded my spiraling mind. I knew better than to let strangers, or perhaps not-so-strangers, into my home. But something inside my heart urged me to comply with the request. So with a short nod, I shouted back in a weak voice.
“The door shouldn’t be locked. Let yourself in. You seem like you know this place anyway. Just if you’re gonna rob me, you won’t get much.”
The old white wood door creaked open, revealing a man in worn sweatpants and a baggy hoodie illuminated by bright lights from the hallway beyond. His hair was oily, and it fell down his face in an unkept wave. His clothes were covered in stains and stank slightly of mildew, yet on his face was a calm smile. His gait was even as he sat down across the table from me, laying his hands out lightly, caressing their surface. His mouth opened, letting out a quiet, happy voice.
“It makes me energized to see you up and about and eating. How long has it been, hmm? I’d reckon at least a day since you had a proper meal.”
I tilted my head, only nodding slightly. I had lost track of time myself, but I couldn’t quite see what his words had to do with anything. Before I could point out the pointlessness in his words, I saw a series of strange red marks on his hands, seemingly in the process of turning into pale blisters.
“You are injured. Shouldn’t you take care of those before chatting with me?”
The man glanced down but only smiled.
“Oh, these? Indeed, they are quite painful.” His voice paused for a moment as he glanced back up at me. “Frankly, I’m surprised it took you this long to notice yourself.” He laughed a little and continued nodding. “These will heal. No, they are not why I seek you out. My goal is meaning, as I’m sure it is everyone’s.”
His words entered my mind like a familiar song, but despite his talk of meaning, I could find none in his words. So I spoke, a slight tinge of frustration for the first time seeping into my voice.
“I don’t understand… What do you refer to? Have you come here to cause me even greater confusion?”
The man spoke back quickly, amusement in his voice.
“Don’t worry, that’s normal. It’d be quite hard to understand that which you don’t know. It is not your fault; it never was. Some things in life are simply part of being human.” He squinted and reached his blistered hand out to point at my head. “Let’s take, for example, you. How do you see yourself?”
His question was one I’d often ask myself but never answer honestly to others. I tried to shake away the thoughts that came, but as I tried to push them down and redirect his question, a force inside me compelled me to let them pour out of my mouth.
“I’m broken. I can’t even leave my room. My heart is on the verge of bursting.” My eyes grew red as I continued. “My arm…it hurts every day. I’m sure that there is something wrong with it. My heart beats so rapidly that I’ve decided to run from it entirely. I’m a hopeless wreck, and I’ve been like that for years… anyway, it’s not that important.”
The man nodded lightly as he listened, turning and tilting his head toward me as he spoke softly.
“You see, you only know what you understand, so let’s try changing that understanding. You say you’ll die, but you’ve felt this way for years, and your heart is bursting, yet you move perfectly fine even with those frantic beats.”
My chest tightened, and my face reddened.
“What, so you think I’m just making it up? These things I feel…they’re real. It hurts. It feels like I’m dying. I know I am!”
The man shook his head lightly.
“No, quite on the contrary, I see your pains much more surely than you do. They are indeed real, as real as any cut or bruise or flu. No, I do not accuse you. Rather, it is you who accuses yourself by not accepting them as real.”
My mind acted quicker than I was aware it could as I shot back.
“I am insane! None of these feelings are real. I’m simply a liar who is too weak to deal with normal pain.”
The man continued to smile, leaning in slightly as he spoke with a soft, calming voice that caused my face to cool.
“No, you are not a liar. You cannot imagine the effects that your body is under, nor are you making up fear. While your fears are real, they do not change reality, just as no other thought can change reality. Neither do they make you weak.” His voice got louder as he glanced at me, beaming. “Strength is your own. You have built it brick by brick, day by day, inside of yourself, by being who you are.”
I shouted back.
“Who exactly am I!”
For the first time since I’d seen him, his face became serious, his brow tightening as he looked at me sternly.
“You are not dying, yet your pain is real. You suffer from the way your body has learned to respond to the world, by seeing things like your heartbeat as a threat. Nothing is wrong with that. Rather, every part of your body is functioning optimally. If the situation were a real threat, you would need the blood flow, the heart rate, and the numbness to fend off threats or escape. Your thoughts are just as normal. Your body is telling you something terrible is about to happen, so of course you think it’s true—after all, why would it lie to you?” He blinked, smiling again. “You are strong. You have done very well. Trust me, I have watched your struggles every day. I know your feelings, I also know the truth: everything is okay.”
With a small twist of my head, I glanced out the window, the world outside seeming slightly brighter as he continued.
“It’s true you’re struggling. It’s true you hurt. It’s true you are afraid. But it’s also true that you are happy sometimes. Not every moment is the same. Time passes, and everything changes, even our despair. Do not give up.”
I cut him off, still staring out the window.
“How do you know…”
He let out a loud laugh. Though I could not see his face, I could feel his smile behind my head.
“Because I am part of you.”
His words shot through my mind, settling into place like something long forgotten.
I turned quickly to look at him-
But there was no one there.
Only soft beams of sunlight now poured through the window, filling the space where he had been.
Editorial Note: This short story was developed by a Cohort 1 intern at the Discover Psychology Foundation and is featured in the Editorial Internship Exhibition.
