First Children in the Sun

Why?

(Adam's Point of View) 

Down the caverns leading to the medical wing we strolled. Just another civil pose to uphold, appearing to be nothing more than a doctor mingling with his paitent; but behind the cloak we donned a war was waged. I prepared, wheting my wit and focusing my mind for the upcomming battle. My tounge, my sword was sharpened and sheathed within my mouth. With every breath I drew, I gathered my aura, my  confidence, my courage and with every exhalation I casted my psychic sheild that I swore will prevent my meditations from being culled by the Thought Reaper's sickle pen.

Despite all my efforts, I could feel his sharp eyes penetrating my sheilds, his hungry gaze staring  at the very core of my being that i tried so hard to protect. My mind, naked, trembled under his magnifying glass. My face paled as my puny eyes met his enlarged examining pupil; a monster whose mouth agape revealed a black infinite void, abosorbing any power I emitted. The fear I tasted, cold and metalic, crawled from chest up to my frozen palate. Not a word exchanged between me and my opponet. His senses were sparked, analyzing every step, every breath taken by me. I tried to raised my poise, but still i felt him towering over me. I could feel his cold winter winds breathing down on my neck. I shivered. Nothing in my life was ever so frightening, and I prayed that some how I would be removed from his presence. I prefered anything now, even the Jailer's long torcherous reflection essays and the dark lonely cell from which I served solitary detention.

I closed my eyes and drew one, long breath, wrapping the warmth of my soul around my shivering mind. The march I halted, holding in the air, stopping the wheel of time just for one second, and then slowly released my breath while opening my eyes. I turned my head and saw him, with a perplexed expression painted on his face. Such expression questioned, "Why have you stopped moving, before i told you to do so?" I cracked a smile in reply, and realized that he was just another human. His poise could easliy be blown away with the right current of wind. He too was just another boy, a lamb of the shepard Fortress. 

He gestured me forward, but I deflected, "After you sir." And so he started to take lead again down the caverns, grabing my hand and pulling me forward. A firm squeeze was my reply and then I complied. 

Soon, we reached the double doors that gated the medical wing. Above the frame, stood the Silver Staff with its wings open. Wrapped around it were two snakes hissing "medicine is in our bite, don't worry how much we give you." 

Once I respected the Staff, once I endorsed the healing it symbolized till White Coats came and corrupted medicine; discarded love for pills in a plastic bottle. The Reaper's hand pushed open the gate and down slithered the snakes onto his projected right arm, now the staff that would fix my rebellious mind. 

Not long after we arrived at the Reaper's Lair. He opened the door, gestured me in and shut it behind him. With a flick of a switch a dim bowl of light on the ceiling illuminated, revealing shadowy furniture, silhouetted by the gray haze that filled the room.

"Make yourself at home, Adam," welcomed the doctor.

I looked around, eyeing the room and its contents. I saw the shadows of two leather chairs, one sitting on each side of the shadow of a leather couch. I saw a book case, filled with hollow books, inscribed with the futile theories and doctrines of Society.

I saw the shadow of the Reaper glide to the back of the room, where his desk stood. His desk, its contents and a velvet chair in front of it, were the only objects that appeared to be tangible.

"Have a seat," he invited gesturing to the whole room, "any where you like."

The other seats didn't look hospitable, the Reaper's gesture was nothing but a mock, a challenge to sit elsewhere but the velvet seat before him. I took my seat in front of the desk, staring at the tools he would use to desipher my mystery. A laptop with my records pulled up, a pad of note paper and an acrylic pen were all the weapons he needed. His "experience" and "education" were his armor. His sheild was his Ph.D in psychiatry; a fancy peice of paper encased in a wooden frame that hung on the wall above his desk.