No Such Thing as Love | Short Story (Random Updates)

1.Mind the Eye

There's no such thing as love. It's just hormones activated in a series of moments shared with another person. It's just a myth that people used to believe in — like Gods, like family, like the human soul.

So no matter what you do, don't fall in love. Don't fall for love. Don't believe that there's such a thing as love.

Yet as I catch myself watching the people around me, I know, deep down, I know the truth. That there is a need for love even if love is a lie.

The pod gently rocks our bodies, taking us to the next station and since we're all standing, packed inside the oval capsule, our bodies touch. It's accidental. It's just a moment where the warmth from the nearest body seeps into your own and suddenly you're not alone in the world and there's a smile creeping up on your lips.

But you don't let yourself smile. You just stand there straight and swaying with the pod's movements, struggling to keep balance, tightening your grip on the plastic handle hanging from above your head and you keep the same bland expression that you've learned early on will keep you out of trouble.

I watch the others without staring. And then I wonder if they might also be watching me — an average guy, donning the city-issued gray uniform, short hair, clean shaved. A few pairs of eyes are only inches away, a breath's distance from my face, yet it is not their gaze that worries me and not what they might notice that keeps me on my toes.

It's the Eye in the middle of the pod's ceiling. That Eye can not only see me but analyze my facial expression.

So one too many lingering glances, one misguided smile, no matter the intensity, a frown at the wrong time and the Eye may alert the system and mark me as a possible risk.

The man and woman to my left have been looking at each other for far too long. Their fingers have touched one too many times as their handles swung closer and closer together. Shit. She's smiling. And it's a nice smile too. Her dark hair is long, longer than average. And the guy has pretty eyes with dark lashes, also longer than average. The Eye sees it all and if these two keep it up, they will be tagged for investigation.

And I have to ask myself if it's love that makes them so stupid as to risk everything for a glimpse of each other, for a few seconds of their skin meeting. And if it's love then how can love be simply a myth?

But it can't be love. It's desire. And desire is what I feel when I look at the man who's standing now in front of me.

He's younger than I am. Maybe in his late twenties. Short auburn hair, almond shaped eyes of a dark color - probably brown. Nothing special, entirely average. Well-behaved and with a perfect posture and attitude, he's the perfect picture of a model Citizen. But I'm not drawn to that. In fact, I have no idea what's peaked my interest in him. All I know is that my blood is heating up and my mind is flooded with images of our bodies colliding naked and needy.

Our eyes meet and I can't look away. For some reason, I'm certain that he knows exactly what I've been thinking.

So I make myself look away and the magic is broken.

The pod slows down — it will soon come to a stop. The man moves in my direction, and I assume that he's about to leave the pod at the next station.

I step sideways to give him enough room. Yet still the unexpected happens and our bodies touch. A gentle nudge, an eternity for my fiery and alert mind.

"Mind the Eye, freckles," a deep whisper reaches me.

It takes all of my will to dissolve the surprise plastered across my face but I can't avoid a furtive glance in his direction. And in that split second, I see his smile.

Then he is gone, out of the pod and the doors rattle a bit before closing again behind me. I control my breathing seeking to settle my nerves. Freckles?! Really? I've heard that nickname before when I was a child and the other kids didn't know any better yet. Using nicknames may lead to months in a re-education camp since it's an infraction of the soc-norms.

But so is losing your shit in a public space. I heave and squeeze the plastic handle, pushing against the wave of unexplainable emotions threatening to break my will. This shouldn't be happening to someone like me. I have my shit together and I'm not going to mess up my life.

You're better than this, Kester. You're in control. Not an animal. The words of tutors from my early years ring hollow in my head. But they do the trick.

Despite my inner turmoil, I'm pretty sure that only a frown crosses my face. That's fine. Emotions are fine as long as they don't dominate or persist. A plain expression is, of course, better and I have one I instinctively go back to no matter what happens around me, in a timely manner. I've learned to do that as a kid.

Another trick I've picked up along the years is to distract myself and there's nothing more distracting than work.

I tap behind my ear and activate AUGi — a direct link to Control which allows for an augmented version of reality.

With slight taps along my index finger, I browse the pages of intel superimposed on the people standing in the pod around me. And using the same type of thumb gestures along my digit, I text my partner for the day: 'Going straight to the first mark's address. Meet me there.'

So I'm starting my shift a little earlier but that should be all right with Control. After all, I am a Warden and my job is to investigate marks and to prevent any criminal activity. Even a rogue smile, even an unsanctioned touching pattern, and yes, even love fools.

I make a note of the woman with long black hair and of the man with long eyelashes — not yet tagged for investigation but soon, soon I or one of the other Wardens will probably end up working their case if they keep up the leering looks and act like idiots who believe in myths.

Clearly, there's no such thing as love. Too bad we still seem to need it though.