This is now my second story on Fiction Press. It's going to be a lot darker, and a lot more serious. I hope you're ready, because this journey takes place on a very small, yet unlimited field: the mind.

Final Thought

Pre-Observation:

The brain: To some, it is our greatest tool. After all, it controls our breathing, prevents us from dying by holding our breath. Go on: try it. Hold your breath until you die. You won't do it. If you tried it, your brain reacts and sends a relay message to force you to take a saving breath.

Why? Because the brain knows what keeps you alive. The brain knows what keeps your heart beating.

In a more scientific approach, if you don't have any air, oxygen can't be carried in your blood cells to be transferred into the brain. In this sense, your brain starts to suffocate as well as you. The brain shuts itself down, and with it, all the organs in your body that cannot possibly function without the master controller telling them what their purpose is.

In that case, you die.

To prevent this scenario from ever happening, your brain is ever alert, even if you don't think about it.

In a scary sense, we don't control ourselves: it is our brains.

Other than that, the brain can be used to solve difficult problems. Problems that other beings would never hope to achieve. Our brains search for an answer, and if it fails it thinks up a new one.

Which brings up the word 'think': Do we actually control that function as well, or is it simply in our 'instincts'? Of course, instinct is purely and utterly insipid. It is just another word for how our brains can control our bodies, to make them react and move. So, do we truly act upon ourselves, or would we fail to control our bodies when put under stress?

Of course, some people would argue "But we own our brains, it resides within our heads. In actuality, we are our brains. How can we take control of ourselves?"

True, the concept of us being controlled solely by ourselves is an idea that seems illogical and blasphemous. However, listen to this example:

When you put your hand on the table, in fact, do it now. Hold it there for ten seconds. Then pull it away. What just happened?

Please don't answer "I just put my hand on the table, so what?", even though it is expected, it somehow puts a damper on your intellect.

What just happened was that when you put your hand to the table, it sends several messages to your brain. As the wood (or whatever your table is made out of) touches your skin, your nerve endings receive an analysis of the texture, the temperature, bumps, cleavage, hardness, and several other variables. The brain then itself analyses the message, and then somehow describes it to you by a context of senses.

In short, you feel the table.

But how does the brain know what exactly the table feels like? Maybe the table is rough instead of smooth. Maybe someone had boiling water there a few seconds ago, and your brain is lying to you, telling you it is cold.

If you plunge your hand into soup (for pity's sake, you are not required to try this one) your brain perceives it as hot and thick. But could it really be cold and runny? How do you know if it is thick and hot? Is it the warmth? Is it the sticky broth?

Now, a different test:

Take a cup of boiling hot water, and put your finger in it. (unless you're masochistic, you absolutely do not have to do this either) You feel pain, don't you? You feel so much pain that you start screaming. You want the pain to stop.

In another sense, you want your brain to stop sending the pain messages. You try to will yourself that it doesn't hurt, that you can surpass mortal bounds, but your brain doesn't allow you to do that either. Your brain tortures you, forcing you against your will to withdraw your finger. Relief: The relatively cold air soothes your finger, and already you say "This is crazy! I don't have to do this! Why the hell am I listening to that insane guy?!?"

How did you know you had a choice in that matter? If you didn't do it, it is because your brain already knows what will happen, and will try at all costs to avoid it. If you did partake in this experiment, then it is because somehow, your brain was that curious, and the will to learn overtook you to do it.

The brain also knows the water is threatening to yourself. The body cannot be damaged, or the brain suffers a greater risk of dying. So, the brain sends the pain messages, and persuades you to take your finger out of the water. Then, your brain sends you the relief signals, teaching you that it is good to not have your finger, or any other part of your body for that matter, in boiling water.

So feeling is nothing more than messages from your brain. And those messages could be a farce to accept what is safe and what isn't. You call it 'common sense' to not jump into the middle of the highway, but really those are the basic rules your brain implements to survive.

In this sense, it is hard to put a true definition on the word 'real'.

Is real the action of you physically touching or seeing? Or is it simply the action of your brain sending you those messages? Because messages can be intercepted and changed, real may be the former suggestion of physical touch. However, if our brains lie to us, then we can never hope to find the true meaning of real.

Now back to the uses. Our brains can also be used as a weapon. "How?" you ask? Well, we can't shoot psychic lasers out of our eyes just yet, but our brains did teach themselves that whatever endangers us can be a threat to whatever opposes us as well. Our brains built the weapons we see today, several of them so terrible that it forces other nations to submit to its will without even using it.

It is our brains that can spawn evil, the will to do mischief, the will to murder in cold blood.

Now ask yourself this: Are you capable of evil?

"No," you may answer, "No, of course not! I haven't, and probably never will, kill another human being!"

Ah yes, but evil takes many forms.

Everyone sooner or later commits an act of evil. Everyone submits to the pleasure it creates. The brain submits to the pleasure.

Our brains can be controlled just as easily as it controls you.

Intelligence: what makes one person smarter than another? How does that happen? How are we any smarter than the birds, the elephants, or any type of bug? What gives us the ability to speak, to act, or to commit evil and good?

Many people would think it is because our brain is vastly bigger than that of any other living being. Seems simple enough, right? A bigger brain means a smarter being. An ant is only a drone: it follows the queen's orders, and thus cannot think for itself. Our brain must be at least 500 times bigger than that of an ant.

This speculation is of course wrong.

It was first proven wrong when we discovered that Neanderthals, or cavemen, had bigger brains than us.

Obviously, we are smarter than that.

Intelligence is measured in the surface area of the brain.

Now, you may wonder "Wait, isn't that the same as the size of the brain? Bigger brain means incidentally more surface area." Well, you would be right in a sense, but then why does the brain have so many cracks in it instead of a smooth organ? It is because it creates more surface area. The more cracks, the more electrical neurons can pass through the brain, thus allowing more information to be stored.

What does this have to do with me, you wonder?

Well, get up, get a notebook, and get out a pencil. Take a few notes. Make some hot chocolate while you're at it. This story is about all the nightmares I've had about the brain. This story is what happens when you mess with your master:

"Doctor, we're losing him!"

"No! We can't lose another one, if we do, then the senate will shut us down! Give me 40 ccs of anesthesia, now!"

"The adrenaline valve has burst!"

"No! We can't have that happen! Quick! Fix it!"

"His blood pressure's rising! His beats are getting slower!"

"What is this?!?"

"No! Shut the machine off, now!"

"He's a flat liner!"

"We have a flat line!"

"No! We're not letting this one go too!"

"Sir, it's over. We can't revive him."

" ... Fine, I'm calling it. 12:00 AM on Saturday, January the first, 2150."

And as the crowd outside sang Auld Lang Syne, Doctor Hitagawa failed yet again in one of his experiments.

So when do I come to play in this story? Honestly I don't know. All I know is that it all started when I woke up.

I guess I should introduce myself, although I don't think I could formerly do that. I don't know my real name. I don't even know where I used to live, and I guess I never will.

Because, see, I was a victim. Not just any ordinary victim:

I was the victim of success.

I have short, black hair that is dyed blood red at the sides. I must've really liked that look. I am also short, probably 5' 6". I seem really fit. I guess I was a soldier earlier in my life, however I will never really know for sure.

I suppose if you got one look at me, you'd think I were handsome. Take a second look, and you see that I have an unsightly red scar on my forehead in the shape of an X.

That's how I came up with my name.

For this story, call me:

Crimson X.