Third piece – Appetizer
By the third piece of my heart, my body has relaxed and surrendered to the scene, despite the grotesque nature I find myself in. I’m ready to make conversation again and advocate for those I’ve lost, those who are missing because of me.
‘Why do you want them anyways?’ I start.
‘Why do you want them?’ she snarks.
‘Because they’re my teachers. I’m attached to them. I have a lot left to learn. What about you?’ I ask.
‘Love and I are a connective energy. We cannot reach our potential in isolation or grow while separated from others. We’re empty when we’re alone. They will keep me company, embolden me,’ she explains.
‘So you want relevance. What if I come back regularly, will that give you the relevance you need?’ I ask. She softly smiles.
‘The heart wants what it cannot have. If they had been willing visitors, it would be a different story. It is because they’re repulsed by me that I want them,’ she says.
‘I don’t think they’re repulsed by you, I think they just don’t know how to use you or how you work. They want to play it safe, they work with the tools and energies that comply with their perspective and perception,’ I defend.
‘Then let this be a lesson for you, child. If you reject parts of yourself, they will return stronger and with a vengeance,’ she exclaims.
‘Does that rule apply to all the good things in life as well? Will Love return to me? It was technically me who rejected her, not them,’ I point out.
‘Perhaps in time. But not before you lose your heart and with it, your mind,’ she reminds me. I sigh and place the back of my hands on my forehead.
‘What do you want?’ I ask, exaggerating each word.
‘I have everything that I want,’ she responds.
‘Do you really? I find it hard to believe that this is your dream ending. Is there anything I can trade for them, to make this better for you?’ I bargain. She smiles in tranquility again, looking very innocent, but only to hide her malevolence.
‘There are things I want, that you will not be willing to do.’
‘Try me,’ I encourage.
‘Revenge,’ she responds flatly. I feel something inside me stir, grab my notepad to review my memories and the echoes of sensations. Oh yes, this is one of the many ruminations I have, it has quite a visceral reaction on the body. There exists a violence within me that needs to be kept under wraps at all times, and of course it stems from Ego. She will destroy everything in her path, everything that has ever hurt us or threatens to hurt us again.
‘I think you mean understanding. Revenge doesn’t even the score, hurting people the way they hurt us doesn’t inspire empathy. Bringing people down does not elevate us. Understanding is what evens the score, it gives us access to empathy, and we no longer hold anger within us because we understand where others come from,’ I say ever so optimistically. She exhales loudly with a bored expression.
‘You sound like Love,’ she replies like it’s an insult.
‘Is that so bad?’
‘Sometimes it’s the worst thing you can do to yourself, to reject Me or her. Not everyone in this world should be understood, they are rotten and you must be just as rotten to understand their motivations. Not everyone deserves to be loved, because they are just full of Ego. Ego should be met with Ego, they should be served with what they dish,’ she advises.
‘Siding with one of you is not a rejection of the other, you do realise that?’
‘An acute observation,’ she smiles again, as if proud by my realisation.
‘Then why do you act like this? In reality, you and Love co-exist at the same time, all the time. You said it yourself, you can’t exist without Love and you function best at tension with one another. I might be new and inexperienced, but I’m not dumb. I know revenge is an extreme expression of your energy, and to give you what you want would cause an imbalance in the ecosystem of our consciousness. I can’t indulge such desires,’ I say.
‘You could, to teach, and learn a lesson,’ she begs to differ.
‘Lesson in what? Violence begets violence.’
‘Exactly. You missed your opportunity to demand respect at the time, but you can correct your mistakes today.’
‘I can but I won’t. I choose not to. I choose to-,’
‘Suffer instead. How very noble of you… how serendipitous that a coward would choose the same fate. But that couldn’t be you, could it?’ she taunts.
‘Stop it! You choose to make us suffer, not me! I want peace, you’re the one wreaking havoc!’ I accuse. She finishes folding a shirt, and with nothing left to occupy her hands for now, she stares intensely at me.
‘Look at what your hands are doing and look at what mine are doing, who is covered in blood? Which of us is wrecking more havoc?’ she points out. I bite my lip in frustration, huffing and puffing.
‘And what if I give you revenge?’ I ask. She stops to consider the seriousness of my suggestion.
‘You don’t have the gall,’ she responds.
‘Don’t I? You’re talking to a child who is willing to rip out their own heart to get their own way. What’s the difference between hurting myself and hurting another?’ I state. She cranes her neck, eyes squinting in suspicion. She twitches a few times.
‘I’m not Integrity, I have no such sensibilities urging me otherwise,’ I add.
‘Will you rip out another’s heart for Me?’ she whispers, her blue eyes light up like little flames, barely containing her excitement.
‘Maybe not rip. But I can give you spite,’ I offer. She grumbles, returns to her loop, preparing a new lot of clothes to fold.
‘You’re too weak to make them pay,’ she grunts.
‘I’m not going out of my way to make anyone pay. If the opportunity arises, I’ll take it. Short of that, spite will do,’ I reason. She says nothing, her face giving nothing away.
‘When I call for you, and I will, you must fill me with the energy to deliver this spite. Give me the energy to create this reckoning,’ I urge. She makes a sound but doesn’t acknowledge me further.
‘Do you agree? When I leave this prison, will you empower me?’
‘Yes, if it’ll get you to shut up,’ she agrees. I umph in triumph.
‘Reassurance, at last. You wouldn’t agree to revenge if you didn’t believe I’d make it out here. I was afraid I might die having cut out my heart and all. But now you’ve confirmed it for me. I’m on the right track. I’m getting out of here, one way or another. I don’t need to fear sacrificing my heart,’ I’m proud I managed to outwit the Ego, that I’ve made her confess that I’ll escape.
‘Very clever Little Ruler,’ she exclaims, her expression neither impressed or upset by my trickery. ‘Except you forget one lesson that you and your predecessors keep forgetting,’ she adds.
‘What’s that?’ I ask.
Her Cheshire cat smile widens, as her expression grows insatiably wicked.
‘Everyone lies.’ And just like that, she snuffs out what little hope I had just mustered, leaving me to the darkness of my thoughts and the loneliness of my reality.
Fourth piece – entree
I go in and out of consciousness, passing attention like a game of pass the parcel with others I share a consciousness with. I can’t really figure out how to make this work, she’s more difficult than I could ever imagine, and so much more powerful than me. She’s smarter, more experienced, and so sure of herself. But I refuse to leave this scene and let her win, I’ll stay here as long as I have to, even if it takes… the tiger nudges me for the fourth piece of my heart. I sigh, realising my time is counted in the form of cut out human organs.
‘What are you doing with your hands anyway?’ I ask. I seem to have recovered from the precarity of my situation, with no assurances I’ll make it out. I have offered the fourth piece of my heart to the tiger, and remain in uncertainty whether this is all worth it.
‘The boxes, the folding, the putting away, what does it mean? You seem to be better at it than Love, but I don’t know what it represents.’
‘Brain damage,’ she answers. I lift up onto my elbows in surprise.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. The heart repairs the damage inflicted onto the brain. Love is still in disbelief that such damage could be inflicted upon us by loved ones. That is why I am better equipped to complete this task,’ she explains.
‘I would have thought that brain damage was a cerebral task, something for the mind to attend to,’ I say. She chuckles at the idea.
‘You really are new, aren’t you, you sweet innocent thing,’ she replies in a sing-song voice.
‘Maybe I can help?’ I suggest.
‘No. Your kind have a habit of making things worse. Overthinking easy concepts and ruminating over simple truths. You continue doing whatever elaborate plan you have conjured here, prove to me that I am wrong,’ she dismisses the thought with a flick of her hand. I use the time I have to write in my notepad some thoughts about how to deliver spite, to prove her wrong. It soon becomes apparent that I’m only proving her right. Nothing I write seems to impress any sense of justice or peace. She’s right, I don’t have the gall. I don’t even have the imagination to strategise spite into a shape. I’m pathetic, I can’t be vindictive on command, I’m just a failure. I groan and give up, placing the back of my hands on my forehead.
‘There’s something I don’t understand about you. Everyone describes you as an energy, but you’re quite identified with the heart. How does that work, how can you be an energy that exists outside of us, yet have such a vested attachment and expression on behalf of the heart?’ I ask curiously.
‘I am an energy in that I amplify, or diminish, what already exists, and in this context, your mind has amplified the energy within this piece of the heart to better understand it. You cannot communicate with the heart as you do your cognitive functions like Logic, because you do not share a common language. You were never taught how to connect with your heart, you only ever do by happenstance or by force of the environment. I am the bridge that connects you with your heart in absence of experience,’ she outlines.
‘Would my heart be kinder if I knew how to connect with it without using your energy?’ to this she shrugs.
‘Perhaps the whole world would be kinder if any of you could connect to other dimensions of consciousness without relying on Ego or Love to make sense of it. But many of you do not. Most of you have an emotional dimension so foreign to you, it’s treated as an afterthought, and you are left feeling dissatisfied with the disharmony between heart and mind, and have no sense in understanding why or how,’ she says. This gives me food for thought.
‘I think I’ve been doing this all wrong,’ I start. She tapes up a box, completing another part of the task she is given, without showing any interest in my reflections.
‘The heart is hurt because it is used by others. That’s what Love was trying to say. It’s been misused and abused into pieces, and I should know this by now. But then I enter the scene, demanding to use the heart for my own ambitions, with careless regard to how you feel or what you need. I’m no better than those who abuse us,’ I admit. She says nothing, gives nothing away, she guards this piece of the heart with fierce stoicism.
‘Of course Love subsided and you took over to control this piece of the heart, for I have done nothing but use and hurt you, and I haven’t shown any regret or remorse for how I’ve treated you. I am sorry. I am so sorry. Will you ever be able to forgive me?’ to this she smiles something wicked.
‘Love is the forgiver. I am the punisher. From Me, you’ll get nothing but what you deserve,’ she states.
‘In that case, I’m sorry. And I forgive you,’ I exclaim. She scoffs in disgust.
‘I don’t need your forgiveness,’ she seethes.
‘Maybe you don’t. But you and Love are one in the same. When Love comes back, and I’m sure one day she will, she might need my forgiveness. And I might not exist anymore to give it to her. So I give it to you instead. I forgive you for hurting me. I understand you were just trying to protect yourself,’ I say.
‘You hurt yourself,’ she hisses, refusing to take any responsibility or accountability for the situation we find ourselves in.
‘I know, I agree. But so do you,’ I reply. She scoffs again and turns her back, unwilling to engage with me any further.
Fifth piece – main course
By the time I’ve sacrificed the fifth piece of my heart all I can do is cry.
Sixth piece – deathly dessert
I have no concept of time, or space, of pain or attention, I can only feel the loss. On my back, my hands on my forehead, I stare into the abyss of my mind, into the emptiness of my decisions. I’m going to die here alone, and no one will remember me, I’ll just be known as the Storyteller who failed before they even started.
Don’t write yourself off just yet, this is only your first story. A voice rings in my mind. I open my eyes to look around and find the source of the voice. Ego doesn’t seem to have heard it, she is absorbed in her loop. Confused, I close my eyes again, only to see a man standing in the centre of my vision. He places his index finger to his lips, shushing me before I can say anything aloud.
Don’t alert her, she doesn’t like sharing spaces, he says.
Who are you? I thought no one else could enter this prison? I ask in my mind. He doesn’t look like us, he is much older, has a beer belly and a robust frame. He wears a jesters hat, dresses like a hippy and brandishes a star of David around his neck.
I’m the Joker. Technically, I’m not in the prison, I’m in your mind. I’m very good at finding loopholes, haha, get it, because you’re stuck in a loop with the Ego, his hand on his belly, he gives a hearty chuckle at his own joke.
But how? I ask.
A consciousness within a consciousness within a consciousness, you should know by now your mind is just a series of babushka dolls. Our consciousness is aware of your plight, and of the energy your situation is costing us. I’ve been sent here to assist you. We figured it was only fair, since you’ve not fully grown into your talents, and you’re overpowered competing against the Ego, he explains. I thank my lucky stars that I finally have an ally on my side.
How do I save Integrity and the Storyteller? I ask.
I said I was here to assist, not to perform miracles. If the Ego wants them, the Ego will have them. There’s not much that can be done about that, he says much to my dismay.
So do I just leave them behind? I ask.
I personally don’t think so, but that’s only because I find the lengths you will go to amusing and entertaining. It’s good material for me to use in the future, he says with a chuckle.
How is this assisting me? I ask. He laughs again.
I didn’t say I was any good at assisting, he keeps laughing, much to my fury.
Then why did they send you of all people? I reply angrily.
Because in the darkest of moments, it is I who appears to even the odds. Barriers are optional for me. In the most unlikely places, I tend to appear. This was the most diplomatic intervention against such an enormous dose of Ego, he says.
Then what do I do? I ask exasperated.
You give the Ego what it wants, you leave, you die or you give it revenge, he suggests.
But isn’t that the wrong thing to do? We should be discouraging its bloodlust, not feeding it, I argue. He shrugs, seemingly unconvinced about my position on the matter.
Life is a series of jokes. Jokes played on you, jokes you play on others. It’s not so bad to play a joke on those who still laugh at you, he suggests. I take a moment to consider my options and the implications.
And the rest of the consciousness, do they agree to revenge? I ask. If I have permission, then I won’t feel so bad about making this decision. But he does not give me the reassurance I want, he does let me shy away from taking responsibility.
Not exactly. But we’ve all had enough of the amount of energy you are siphoning, he starts to juggle to keep himself occupied.
I don’t know what the right thing to do is, I lament.
Who cares what the right thing is? Nothing matters anyways, he answers flippantly.
You’re a nihilist, aren’t you? Life is easier that way, when nothing matters, better to be nothing than to amount to something, you know nothing of responsibility, no wonder you’re a joke! I snap. He laughs. I hate his laugh, it rings in my ears and makes my blood boil.
Do you remember when we were young and hopeless? Depressed and alone? Do you remember how I would make our friends laugh, by doing the silliest things, we didn’t care about how foolish we looked, we just wanted to lighten the mood for them. Think of our darkest memories, who was it that broke those spells of despair? It was me, and my meaningless jokes, that got us through. Do you remember all the absurd things we’ve done just to feel alive? That mattered. I make things matter by rendering them meaningless, and that is how we relinquish the hopelessness that controls our state of being. Call that nihilism, but I get things done. Can you say the same? He catches all three of his juggling balls in one hand, slips one into his free hand and with the grace of a softballer, throws a ball into my center. I open my eyes in fright, shooting upwards. This gets Egos’ attention, who looks at me for an explanation for my sudden reaction.
‘If I give you revenge, will you free them?’ I reel, pretending I was struck by an idea rather than an imaginary ball aimed at my mind.
‘No,’ she replies flatly.
‘Doesn’t matter, I’m giving it to you anyway,’ I say. Curiously, she watches me while I scribble my ideas and notes into a plan of action.
‘Why?’ she hesitates to react, suspicious of my change of opinion.
‘Because you deserve it. And fuck anyone who says otherwise,’ I retort. To my surprise, she begins to twitch, much like Love did when I first entered this house. Gosh, how long ago was that? When I’m done, I rip those pages out and throw them to her.
‘Here. Here’s your revenge. If I die, it doesn’t matter, I’ve set my mind and someone else can take action on it. If I survive, I’ll actualise it,’ I promise. A grin slips across her face while she reviews my notes.
‘You’ve yielded. You know your place. Good,’ she proclaims, pleased with herself. By now the tiger nudges me for another piece. I exhale dramatically and get to carving out my heart once again, only to find that there is only one piece left. I hesitate, as it dawns on me that this is it, this is the end of the line. As if sensing this prolonged death is coming to an end, I begin to feel blood moving through my body. It spurts from my chest, and pools in my lungs, sending me into a cough. I feel heat and panic fill me into a fury of sensations.
‘Oh please, allow Me,’ Ego says innocently, coming to my aid. I lock eyes with her, gritting my teeth as she reaches into my chest with her bare hands. Blood trickles down the side of my mouth and I try my best to pretend like it doesn’t hurt and like it doesn’t matter.
‘You’re too kind,’ I quip, and choke on my own blood, coughing again. I feel her fingers curl around what’s left of my heart but I grab her arm, anchoring it into place.
‘I have one last thing to say,’ I announce, smacking my bloody mouth together to get the words out. She raises her eyebrows for me to continue. I take too long to think of my famous last words, and I feel her arm begin to resist my grip. I want to say something impactful, I want it to matter, I don’t want to die.
Which is all Ego or Love ever wanted from the rest of the consciousness before we decided to compartmentalise them away. How the tables have turned.
‘Fuck it. Take my heart, I have no need for it anymore,’ I release my grip and any further resistance. I settle with spitting blood on her face as my final act of defiance. She smiles in glee, licking the blood dripping onto her lips, pleased with my reaction.
She pulls out the last piece of my heart and presents it to me. It still beats, more from memory than anything else, and when it stops throbbing with life, I resign myself to my fate.
I’ve had enough of this life anyway.