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The Low Hanging Fruit of Dreams

J Hill

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Sometimes I just don’t think. Thoughts continue, in my mind, coming and going. I just stop organizing and evaluating. I just stop thinking about them.

Sometimes I just don’t feel. Feelings continue unabated to wash over my soul. I just stop denying or accepting. I just stop caring about them.

My name is Marnyoue. On the Third Day of each Quarter, the Empaths here gather at the Central Reproduction Lab in Seventeen Nuham City. The clinicians and, especially, the technicians are working past the point of stress and are dissatisfied by their compensation. Deeper, they are very confused and conflicted by ramifications of their work. This is why I excuse their impersonal manner and brusque surliness as I provide insemination. It is also here that I sometimes see Emma.

Emma. Who with just a momentary glance from across a crowded gathering room, sees straight into my soul. She knows me more wholly in that one instant, than I will ever know myself.

Emma. Who seems oblivious to personal discomfort or selfness as she gives freely her most precious genes and egg. In this ordained but misconceived scientific societal attempt at conception.

I know the silly and outdated notion of wishing is irrational and highly discouraged by The Order. But as I sleep all wishes are freed in my dreams. She waits there to meet me at nite. And, I would never admit, but sometimes by day, I let go the thinking and tracking my work while silently, secretly, releasing all emotional restriction, and give in to my wishes for Emma.

And there you are. And here I go. I know you well. Me? I just don’t know.

"The Empaths" @2010 JDHill

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