Society of the Yellow Sun

Chapter One - The World Goes On

"I see you've put on weight since our last meeting." The doc pointed to a brown armchair sitting in the corner. Lorcan noticed the changes made to the room since his last visit. The lights were dimmer and heavy curtains kept the bright sunlight outside. Lorcan forced a smile and lowered into his seat without a word.

He looked at the doctor, a small old man whose eyes squinted each time he smiled. The doc wore one of those expensive sweaters, uglier than anything Lorcan knew. He also wore horn rimmed glasses on his rosy nose.

"I would give much to know what you're thinking when you look at me like that," the doc said in a whisper as he sat on the corner of his oak desk, a position that forced him to wiggle his back constantly.

"I was thinking that you have no taste in clothing."

Lorcan eyed his black synthetic pants and dark-blue t-shirt. Seeing the doc stay silent and knowing it was to push him to go first, he settled on a question. "Why don't you wear synthetics? It would save you time and money."

"Indeed, it would. So, why don't I?" The corners of the doc's eyes stretched to both sides of his skull as he smiled.

"I just asked you."

"Yes, but only one of us gets paid to ask questions."

"You are wasting your time and my father's money. I'm fine," Lorcan said, scratching his ear.

The doc had a small tablet-like computer in his hands and kept tapping its surface as they talked. "Well somebody doesn't think so."

"Only, it's your opinion that matters. So, am I fine?"

The doc shrugged. He took his gaze from the screen in his hands to Lorcan. "Defining 'fine' can be tricky."

Lorcan sighed with frustration and the doc's face displayed a grin of victory. "Let me shed some light on my meaning," he continued. "The fact that you remain calm while I play cat and mouse with you is a good sign for someone who has been through what you have. On the other hand, you still refuse to discuss what exactly happened over there and that is--"

"My right. It's just... personal."

The doc raised his hand, palms facing Lorcan, mimicking surrender. "And your parents have the right--no, not the right, the duty--to be worried about you."

"They did what they could. It's time to move on."

"Why are you in such a rush to bury something that hurt you this much?"

The doc pointed at Lorcan's face. At the scar that started from his upper lip under his right nostril, ran along his right cheek, and snaked its way toward the far end of his right eye.

Lorcan caressed the tired leather on his seat's arms and, leaned back, closing his eyes, sinking in the depth of the sofa.

"Lorcan, you need to understand something," the doctor kept on going. "I'm not here to bother you. I'm here to help you. I'll admit that we have made tremendous progress, but you won't get rid of our sessions until I let you, and I won't let you until you convince me that you are fine--by my standards."

Lorcan inhaled and let the air flow out slowly. "And what standards are those?"

"Don't try to tell me what I want to hear, because even I don't know it. Just... give me something to work with, Lorcan."

Saying that, the doc moved from the corner of his desk to a coffee table next to Lorcan's chair. "Listen to me," he continued from there. "No one is expecting you to forget. It has only been two months for the Prophets' sake."

He took in a long breath. "Look, the rescue team say you wanted to end your life when they got to you. Now that is not something to be ashamed of, I'm sure you had solid reasons, but your parents are parents and as such they want to be reassured. That's where I come in, and right now I don't know if I can reassure them."

Lorcan opened his eyes and slowly rose from the chair's hold until his back was straight. He looked into the doc's eyes, but it was like he didn't see him.

When he spoke, his voice was cold and detached. "There's no point, doc. Life has no purpose," he said, clenching his teeth. "Don't get me wrong, I don't want to off myself any more, but there's nothing that matters. I can't say I'm fine, because I don't remember what it feels like, but," he paused for a second, took a deep breath and continued. "I am whole, all my injuries have healed, and I feel almost no pain now. I think I've never been this good. I can come here every day for the next ten years, and it won't make me speak any faster. Letting me live a normal life, letting me move on, will."

The doc nodded and scratched the top of his balding head. "Why do you want to move on if life has no purpose for you?"

"What else can I do? Can't keep trying to kill myself, now, can I?" He waited a few seconds filled with silence. "Doc, that was a joke. You got it, right?

"Yes Lorcan, I got it, but you didn't answer my question."

"Well, what else is there left for me to do except live and hope to be proven wrong?" Lorcan's hands were holding firmly onto his seat's arms and he was sitting as straight as a pin. The doc got up, went to his desk where he opened a drawer, and took a thin piece of glass that he inserted into the computer.

He let his fingers run on the tactile screen for a few minutes, ejected the disk, and handing it to Lorcan, said, "You will return to school. You've fallen back a year due to your--absence, but your teachers think very highly of you. They're willing to let you start mid-year. I want you here in two months. We'll see where to go from there."

Lorcan hadn't expected it to be that easy. He got up and took the piece of glass which the doctor held tightly before he let go.

"Still don't remember a thing from over there?"

Lorcan shook his head and tightened his lips.

"Do you still have the paper books I gave you?"

"Yes, at home."

"Make sure to have one with you at all times. Write anything you feel in there, and remember that they are addressed to none other than you. You never know when it'll come back to you. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Good. Bye, now. If you need more pens, you can ask Juliet on your way out. I hear they are hard to come by nowadays."

Lorcan shook the hand the doc held out, and turned to leave. Just as he reached the doors and they were about to open, the old man called out, "Oh, by the way, Lorcan?"

Lorcan turned. "Yes?"

"I don't wear synthetics for the same reasons I wear glasses instead of implants and why I have plain old furniture without fancy human and machine interface."

Lorcan raised his eyes to the ceiling where squares of light emitted a soft glow. "You want to see how poor people live?"

The doc cracked a brief smile. "No, I just love the past. While some like you want to move on, hoping they will find good things ahead, others like me enjoy looking back, feeling the past holds the best of us."

He shuffled a few papers on his desk and looked up at Lorcan. "Go on now, and don't forget Juliet if you need pens, I want you to use manual writing when possible."

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