The Soul Encounters: The Vincio

Chapter One

Hello, you.

Yes, I'm talking to you. If you're going to listen in on my thoughts like some techie hacking into the secret files of the FBI to extract some information, I might as well give you permission. Less awkward this way. Where is privacy these days, anyway? I wouldn't know. I have already concluded years ago that privacy is an illusion we built to hide from the reality of transparency.

I know what you're thinking. There's still one major thing everyone has that can never be exposed: the mind—an encrypted treasure.

But what if I tell you that that can be taken away from you, too?

I guess you don't believe me, but it's true. It's actually my biggest secret, and I'm going to show it to you later. To be honest, I think you won't believe me when I show you either, but that's okay. It took me a long time to believe it, too. I haven't even accepted it yet.

I'm alone right now—believe it or not—and I'm staring at my own reflection in the mirror on my bedroom desk. I'm becoming one of those people who make elaborate observations of themselves when they size themselves up in the mirror. Well, you can't blame me for that right now. It's the first time in a long time that I can look at myself in silence. Sounds dramatic but I'm losing myself.

I mean, look at this. I've got larger darker circles around my eyes. I think I've gone pale. The freckles on my shoulders are more noticeable now. I haven't gone under the sun for a while. I look as crazy as I feel.

"You are one ugly nincompoop," I tell my reflection, sneering at it. I realize what I'm doing and laugh.

I told you: I'm losing it. It took me a moment to realize that I said that out loud. I've been doing that a lot lately. That's why you're here now. Keep me on track.

Shit, I'm a weirdo.

Is this why people look at themselves in the mirror and feel as if they're some animated character? We always see this on the media, but do we all do it because it's dramatic and we feel like we're in a demented drama? That's what happens when a character looks at a mirror, right? They feel lost and they're trying to find themselves? Then again, pop culture is some romanticized version of our reality. It makes me sick, really, but who am I to control it?

No one talks about this kind of self-reflection in real life. It gets you into conversations you don't want to be a part of: the "real talks", not hindered by chats or topics deemed appropriate to mention for the sake of drowning the silence. No one wants the real conversations.

Looking at the mirror, what do I feel? Nothing, really.

I'm not lost.

I already know the path I'm taking—the path to crazy.

Oh my God, shut the fuck up, will you? Don't wanna deal with this sort of shit so early in the fucking morning, okay?

This is it, you. This is the secret I was talking about: the voice. His voice.

I want to tell you more about him right now, but from what I can hear from him, he's not really in the mood for an assessment right now. It's easy to huff away and shrug. Silence is often the best course of action, in my opinion, and often so underestimated. It's effortless yet empowering. It is, however, a regularity for me rather than a tactical choice. I'm just not much of a talker if I don't initiate it.

But like I said: there is no such thing as privacy anymore.

Right now, all I want for him to do is go away and leave me alone. He could die, for all I care.

You always say that but we both know you don't mean it. I am rolling my eyes, by the way.

He didn't need to say it to prove a point. I heard him think about doing it. I felt him do it—as if my brain told him to do it. No, I'm not crazy, and I will tell you why. What I'm about to tell you must be kept a secret between us.