I wasn't always so impassive.

When I was many years younger, I recall the orphanage during Christmas. Sitting under the tree, with the rest of my makeshift family, I recall the warmth of my first gift. It was a giant teddy bear, so big I couldn't hold it with my small hands-- at least back then. I thanked the director for the present, a bright smile across my face, and played with my sister's ribbons, of which she attached to my hair. Childhood was like that- simple memories, gifts taken for granted, affection given easily. A kind orphanage director, siblings, and kind teachers. 

"Nothing gold can stay." Robert Frost. Like a cloud of cotton candy. 

The sweet memories melted in my mouth. And the next recollection I'd remember, in my dreams, is the sound of screaming children fighting like dogs. The same children that once played together and treated each other as family began to act as competitors. We all vied for the director’s attention, sabotaging everyone else for our goals. I was the same. Even with my twin sister at my side.

Since genetic modification centuries ago, humans have gone extinct. The irony is that those beings had chosen to end themselves– in favor of becoming creatures unable to defy their instincts.

Crepidula fornicata. Seahorse. Osedax bone eating worms. Pycnogonid sea spiders. Wolves. And finally, last but not least, dogs. All of humanity changed their reproduction systems and mate finding methodologies for the sake of the race's survival. In the face of these reproductive struggles, adoption centers began competing against each other for quality children. Results were all that mattered. 

Yet, despite being an eager Pavlov's dog that surrendered to the ease of obeying, I was still thrown away. Like a prized cattle, I was sold off to the highest bidder--The Memoir syndicate-- when my instincts as an "alpha" presented themselves. Most children would have rejoiced. Between being an omega born with fragile constitutions, and betas who are simply ordinary, alphas had overwhelming physical strength and a higher intelligence than most. 

But that was all it took for them to take me. Separated from my sister, for the next few years all I could recollect is bloodshed. 

With a gun in hand, I remember taking the life of my first target. He was the son of a wealthy family. I cornered them after separating them from their bodyguards. It was easy–they were a simple minded fool who was raised like a precious treasure. They screamed and clawed away, hopelessly trying to bribe me with their parent’s money. When that didn’t work, they promised me women, or the ability to get away scott free killing someone else. I briefly recall how my fingers clenched and unclenched around the trigger, as I hesitated for a moment. Not from his bribes, but out of fear. Even so,  it was easy to press down. Because I knew if it wasn’t them that it would be me. 

He died with a bullet through his head. His body slumped over without a fight. I wasn’t sure what to expect but not an experience so anticlimactic. I didn’t feel a thing at that moment. I heard warnings from the rest of the members. How they trembled and cried, felt the loss of their humanity as their recollection blurred and they vomited. But nothing happened to me. I simply walked back after reporting to my supervisor of his demise. 

It was only that night that the first of many nightmares began. The dream began in the rain. It was raining despite the fact that I was indoors. The room was a cozy space, a mix between a garden and the orphanage room I was raised in. I remember the bright animal mobile hanging above a crib. There was a sound of a baby cooing, with tiny fists raised upwards towards the toys. They were the only other ones in the room. For some reason, I didn’t move at all. Like a statue I stood at the far right corner of the room and watched the ground shift below my feet. Somewhere along the lines the floor became a chocolatey sludge. The sludge began to morph at the first wail of the baby. It colored over in a thin shade of red that darkened as the wailing became louder. Soon, the baby’s crying became a shirl scream as the red flooring began to take on a translucent sheen. The translucent sheen glossed over and bulked into shapes. Familiar grotesque images. Like the organs of a human body. A feeling of fear and dread filled my heart. I began to panic and I breathed heavily, despite not being able to breath. But despite my wishes the organ-like floor began to pool out a heavy flood of red that filled the entirety of the floor in a tidal wave as my hands became muck. The baby was crying. Their cries were ringing in my ears as I desperately wished for their cries to quiet. And it did. Because the red tidal wave engulfed them too. And so, I desperately wished for that sound to come back. In that instance, self hatred and disgust colored my lungs and threatened to burn out my chest. I panicked in my loneliness. But it was too late. The flood was up to my head now. Then the red blood was barely under my eyes, threatening to spill from my mouth and take out my organs with it. I closed my eyes.  

At that moment I woke up. Sitting up on my bed, I blankly looked down at the blankets that covered me. I turned to look out the window. With a sigh I grasped my knees and dragged my legs close to my chest. Nonsensical. It was a pointless dream, that's all it'd ever be. I stayed like that for a while. Despite everything, no, particularly because of everything that happened– the next day, I continued on. As usual. The day after that, and then the week after. During my second target, third, forth… until I could no longer remember who was who. I shoved the memories to the corner of my mind. Somewhere along the lines, the now indistinct bodies piled up. Sure, the dreams were there. I had taken my fair share of sleeping pills. Weed works well. And when weed didn't, Ambien was good enough. But I didn’t let it affect me. 

That became my rule. I knew. I registered each memory into a compartment in my brain. But I wasn’t fully…there. And that’s all it will ever be.

My friend Andrei tells me I'm heartless like that. I'd disagree with him, but he'd never listen so I'd simply smile in response. It's not that I didn't care. It's just that I never acted out on that perpetual feeling of dread, or the guilt I'd dilute with work. I was boring I never strayed too far, was never disobedient to the instructions the Memoir gave us. I competed and scored well against my peers. Never got caught into fights. Always giving a bland reaction. Most would consider me difficult to get to know. In some, that would give rise to hatred. But I ignored it all.

Not because I didn't care. But because I couldn't.