The Decameron 2.0

Day 4.7 Misunderstanding - RARE LOVE IanRCooper

A cherry-red light drifts down the dark, locker-lined hallway. Ian materializes from the black, wearing a beat-up cowboy hat and smoking the stumpy remains of a stale stogie. He's holding something behind his back menacingly, but then his leathery hands present a bottle of Scotch.

"Dear Mr. Vernon, you see us in the simplest terms. The most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us," Ian claps David on the shoulder, "is a brain..."

"An athlete..." He walks his fingers in front of one the card-playing men, who snaps at them with bared teeth. "Oooh, a basket case!"

Ian turns and winks at Heather, "A princess..."

He finishes, pivoting to face the group with a bow. "And a criminal. Sincerely yours, the Apocalypse Club."

"Misunderstandings, huh? Yeah, I was hoping this place was a bar," he chuckles. "Or at least the Betty Ford. Turns out the Princ-O-Pal's office was where they were hiding the VIP."

Ian props himself against a wall and slumps to a seated position. "Wonder how many misunderstandings this little piece of glass has been privy to. Burnouts and helicopter moms, eh? Teenage mistakes fueling stem-cell research." He dips his head low, face invisible beneath the shaped brim.

"I had a twin brother. Someone took him and raised him after all of this happened." He gestures in front of himself, to nothing particular. "Left me behind. Guess they 'misunderstood' I wasn't dead. They say The Man took him, but no one knows this guy's name. They just call him The Man."

Ian mimics in a derisive tone of worship, "Are you that boy who knows The Man? Have you heard about The Man? The Man saved us all!" Then, solemnly, "And at his feet they'll cast their golden crown, when The Man comes around."

The cowboy hat lifts to reveal a mischievous grin. "But that's a story for another time. If there's ever enough time to tell it. A misunderstanding can be mortifying. But in the right kind of story, it could also be kismet."

RARE LOVE

By @IanRCooper

The steel of the gun barrel feels cold on my lips. Well, it might feel cold. If I could feel anything. I just like to say things like that attention-grabber of an opening line. Sure, it could be less dramatic, but how would you relate? I mean, there's still a gun in my mouth, and I might totally go through with it. You don't know.

Oh, the not feeling thing? Yeah, it was that or the gun that got your attention. Fifty-fifty shot. Pun intended. It's called congenital analgesia, which translates to "condition from birth inability to feel pain". Technically, my disorder isn't congenital analgesia. Those people can still feel pressures and other minor touch-related sensations. Mine is hereditary sensory and automatic neuropathy type IV, but for Christ's sake, did you really think I was gonna follow such a sweet opener with that cluster-fuck of a phrase? I'd call it Cantfeelshit-itis, given the taxonomic choice. But I'm not the naming rare diseases guy. I'm the guy with heredi-blahblahblah.

Now I know what you're thinking, "Holy shit! You're a superhero! Or at least you could make a killing as a boxer." Sadly, that couldn't be farther from the truth. See, the thing is, people with – ahem – congenital analgesia are in constant life threatening danger from not knowing when we're in pain. Something as small as a cut on your foot could lead to infection if ignored. This of course becomes an amputation, or worse, death. Imagine if I were actively pushing the physical limits of pain. I'd literally be dead before I knew it. So, no ring girls or stopping bank heists for me. There's barely trips to the grocery store for me.

So why the gun, you may ask? Because living in constant fear of death sucks. There's no sense in making long term plans when the guys with eight-year diplomas say statistically, you'll be lucky to make it to your thirties. I'm defying science and God by breathing right now. Just because I can't feel physical sensation doesn't mean I can't feel emotional ones. Disappointment, dread, depression. These are things that I feel. And if I can get up the nerve to actually pull the trigger, I can stop feeling those too.