The entire Chapter 8 of Ignorance, the Freedom of the Weak, volume I:
Leaning on the window sill, Sayanne felt her knees weakening. There was nothing enticing about this mystery, nothing immediately dangerous or life-threatening to get adrenaline running. On the contrary, such a desolate sight, threatening by its timeless presence, invited the viewer to step into a disconcerting mood.
How exactly could a still landscape evoke more anguish than a ferocious beast was a notion that momentarily escaped Sayanne. She was more concerned about maintaining her balance and keeping herself from fainting.
Abandonment, futility, incertitude rushed inside her heart. Their swift, unexpected impact instantly squandered her shallow façade of hindsight bravery, avidly preying upon a few crumbs of confidence. Drained of hope and burdened by sorrow, the soul finally collapsed together with Sayanne, leaving the young woman lying on the floor with her eyes wide open, staring into herself.
Everyone left. At least the beast wanted her. Tormented, her unconscious gave way to an absurd thought.
Despair, the lost man’s trusted companion. Conscience, the primordial battleground, lacking exercise, atrophied by the same passiveness that had dominated her entire existence, remained an empty arena. Since the border between right and wrong was hazy, diluting their incessant clash into a stalemate, all that persisted within her conscience was a battle of fears.
The captivating terror of an imminent danger, paralyzing body and mind, leaving no time for reflection, reaction, awareness versus the perpetual helplessness lurking on the horizon. Its languid nature nourished agony and left the prey at the mercy of a barren future. Always intangible, subduing softly merely by taunting, a cunning tactic that sharpened reason beyond endurance. Fear of death versus fear of life.
In an instant, the mute flat image projected onto the window frame had invaded her unconscious, removing itself from the entire context of reality, replacing it, subduing reason to instinct. Why did existence suddenly become so grim? Sayanne lacked any skills except for the ones she needed to amuse herself.
That future was simply a projection of a wasted present, an extension of her abilities and the mirror of her faith.
Like most people, spending so much time staring in the wrong mirror, Sayanne looked for the culprit of her unhappiness everywhere except inside herself, too ignorant to see that the path she had been dragging on was paved with her own choices.
It seemed her welfare was more important than her life. Welfare, a vague concept she never had to think about, abruptly demanded attention. Lacking the means to influence it, the illusion shattered into a more accurate perception of her condition.
It was far easier to give up and perish instantly than rise and take fate into her own hands one day at a time. Sayanne’s mind ran around in circles, failing to grasp how it was possible to instantly lose everything she had always taken for granted and be helpless.
She ran to them, stumbling, hoping that deep down inside their metal guts something might still be ticking. The distance between them was shrinking rapidly, although the silence thickened with every step she took.
Sayanne stopped short a few meters away from the mammoths, clenching her fists, angry and beautiful. Her childish pose was intended to command the utmost authority. Seeing that the machines could not read body language, she started screaming at them.
The deep irregular breathing was keeping her anger alive and strong enough to outweigh despair. Her body was shivering, unable to translate the fragmented impulses crashing inside her mind into actions. Aggressively motivated by her survival instinct, Sayanne struggled to trace the answers by rummaging through a nonexistent experience.
Tension increased, fueled by failure, and tilted the balance in despair’s favor. Aggressiveness fought back to feed the illusion of being in control. Her heart was pounding, out of tune. Incoherent commands assaulted the seemingly paralyzed body that feverishly strained to execute them all at the same time.
Under the shade of a nearby tree, a somewhat alert kitten scrutinized a still human, barely noticing the nervous twitches of the limbs, a bizarre display of static exertion. The earlier screaming instantly sharpened its instincts and ruined a perfectly good nap. Survival, a key aspect in the life of any efficient cat, dictated, among other things, swift eye goggling for maximum surveillance performance.
Ultimately, the lazy feline concluded that there was not enough motion in the scene to pose an imminent danger and fell back asleep, lacking any ability to fathom the savagery of the wars waged inside a human’s soul. Because they are immaterial, paradoxically, they can reach any magnitude. Their sole property is weight.
Thousands of conflicting muscle contractions added to the choreography of agony that was hastily draining Sayanne’s vitality. The crippled consciousness declined until her vision gently dimmed, clouded, and a cool breeze dispelled the sense of gravity. Just before attrition drew the curtain, the faded deceived rational connection finally snapped.
Sayanne kicked the combine right in the metal. The sharp pain radiating from her crushed toes put an abrupt end to the grandiose opening of her private inferno and forced her to concentrate on a more objective present.
Fully awakened by the blow, she continued to stand there with one leg dangling in the air, perplexed by her reaction. Nature’s serenity and life’s saturated colors struck Sayanne with their calm. What could have possibly triggered such a grossly disproportionate emotional reaction?
The pain was forcing her to stay focused on the present. A few thoughts cleared the mind, and Sayanne finally remembered the way her father used to handle malfunctions.
All she needed to know should be displayed on the large monitor in the kitchen. The live operations log listed every process the machines were executing. Searching through the history log should prove more helpful. The errors tab filtered countless other events and pointed out the faults in thick red lettering. A quick analysis should suggest the most appropriate course of action and prepare a damage report to be sent to the service technicians.
Retracing these steps in her mind, Sayanne rushed back to the house and barged into the kitchen, anxious to put her thoughts into practice. The slippery tile floor accentuated her momentum, and she slid uncontrollably toward the enlarging black canvas of the monitor, ready to envelop her with its uselessness.
Sayanne’s rush was waning together with the inertia that almost crushed her into the void of the screen. The pathetic shrine that, even functional, could provide little more than a few sterile answers. Her last hope, a wide frame of glossy nothingness, could only offer a poor reflection of herself.
The world was probably coming to an end. Not the whole world, just hers. Without other options, all that remained was to dissolve and rest calmly on the floor, staring into the ceiling. The calm before the storm.
Nothing assaulted Sayanne’s soul anymore. The white grainy ceiling continued to exist as a white grainy ceiling. There was no more pain. Only silence. Yet somehow, this oblivion felt uncomfortable. Strangely enough, the stillness lacked peace. After so many blows dealt by this bright day, the torment vanished in a heartbeat, always one step ahead of her. The inviting tranquility felt as alluring as it was surprising.
Where she expected to find comfort, she found solitude. She welcomed it as her salvation, and now she was drowning in it. However, there was something else trying to hide inside the emptiness, a burdensome presence, an unwelcomed company that deepened loneliness.
Oblivion had the unexpected effect of stirring up a shapeless feeling from a recent past. The excruciating lifelessness was gently suffocating her while this uneasy emotion came and went, poking her conscience, eluding her memory. Her rest was still torture, devious, masquerading torture.
Sayanne sensed its roots buried deeply into her childhood, a constant presence that thrived in the absence of introspection. A close companion that had always been there, hidden, rarely giving itself away to the senses. Until now. Although betrayed by the surrounding absence, it remained unmasked. And yet, its taste was nothing but personal. She chased the scent of the same obscure heavyheartedness that would loom whenever she had to face an obstacle. Even an insignificant one.
She hung on to this mystery, her last possession. Somehow, a crooked thought, disguised as her own, unveiled half of the secret. The reason. This nameless anguish had to be the reason for everything.
A torrent of questions assaulted Sayanne, throwing her back into the fight.
Why is this happening to me? Why is everyone and everything gone? Why did they abandon me?
And, from the lack of answers, an answer was born.
You’re useless.
