Ascendancy Of Emotions

Posted on 03 Jun 2015 @ 6:34pm by Ensign K'os Beaumont
Edited on 03 Jun 2015 @ 6:38pm

1,449 words; about a 7 minute read

Well, here I am again. Sitting in the dark wondering what I should say. Wondering who it is exactly that I'm telling my story to. Perhaps you're sitting in your own dark corner, going through all the logs of a lost crew. Perhaps it's three hundred years into the future, and you're an alien species trying to learn about the Federation's history. Maybe I'm dead and you're Family wondering exactly who it is, K'os Beaumont truly was. I think in many respects people think I'm a simple man, just trying to make his mark in Starfleet. I don't see myself that way. I'm a product of my experiences. I'm layers within layers of complexity and sometimes I have a hard time showing that to people. There were times growing up that I felt like my emotions would grow till they burst out of my skull. Feeling joy over a simple bowl of cereal that would grow and change in my mind till the cereal became a rapturous thought before spiraling into uncontrolled ecstatic pleasure. People see the control I exert, but only a very small handful have ever truly looked upon my mind and felt what it's like to feel things as intensely as I do. I was not always in control.

K'os let out a huge laugh, throwing his head back and letting the sound escape him like a pent up volcano that had just burst. His grey-blue eyes watched as the honey bee floated from flower to flower collecting pollen. The twelve year old hybrid watched with amused fascination as the tiny insect wiggled and buzzed. His synesthesia produced colours in his mind that were more like washes of blue shapes that faded in and out as intense memories pulled his attention away from the bee and more on the flowers in front of him. He was supposed to be at school. He knew he was late, and the guilt over not being there was present among the myriad of other emotions washing over his mind in that moment. He just couldn't help himself. He wondered suddenly where the bee lives. If it had a family of other bees that it was providing for. The idea behind the hive culture of the insect was one of comfort for K'os. He wished Human culture was like that. Groups of like minded individuals working towards the betterment of the colony. Caring for nothing but each others comforts and survival. Each playing their own role in their society. It was beautiful beyond description for the boy.

He took the same route to school every morning. His mother, T'ress, was a teacher at the same school but would always take the more logically direct route. There was something about the open field that we walked that brought images of wonder and amusement for him each day. Something he anticipated with joy. He bent down and took his socks and shoes off. He wanted to feel the grass beneath his feet as we walked. The vibrantly green grass tickled his toes, making him giggle. The sun was warm on his face and he found himself stopping, closing his eyes and outstretching his face and arms to the sky as if offering himself as sacrifice to Sol itself.

Commotion coming from the road close by reached his sensitive hybrid ears and he scrunched his nose up in annoyance at having his moment interrupted. He continued to outstretch his arms while he opened his eyes and tilted his head in the direction of the noise. He could make out a ground vehicle, and a small crowd of people that had begun to gather. He couldn't make out voices, but it was clear something bad had just happened.

Every so often, when I recall this memory, I can see the guilt that rises out of it like a dull knife being resistant against skin. Poking deeply but never breaking the skin. It used to be a guilt that would cripple my mind for days. Had I known at the time that my mother had just been struck I would have given up my existence right then and there to be there next to her. To comfort her. To take her pain away with a simple touch. But the randomness of choice and action has always been complicated to accept.

The smells of the hospital were almost deafening in its intensity. With each new scent, sounds would burst within K'os' young mind, disconnecting him from the reality around him. People would come and go. They would hold his hand and say encouraging things to him. The emotions he felt through their touch belied their sentiments and it made him retreat more within himself. His mother was dead. That truth alone had sent K'os into his mind to hide. To retreat into the storm of emotions and memories that constantly threatened to spill out and consume him. The lights above him made him feel overstimulated, making the colours on people's clothing stand out vibrantly against the thick feelings of dread, and despair at the loss of life.

He looked over to a nurse and a doctor that were talking in hushed voices, not realizing that K'os' half-Vulcan hearing was sharp enough to make out what they said.

"His grandmother is on her way from San Francisco." He heard the nurse say. His dark hair was contrasted by the bright blue nurses uniform he wore.

"What about his father?" The doctor said. Turning her bright green eyes towards K'os for a moment. She scrunched her forehead as if she had a thought that K'os might be able to hear them.

"Deep space mission. He's not due back for two more weeks." The nurse said.

In a more hushed voice she leaned in to the man, "Bring him somewhere more private. I'll go see if we can get a grief counselor here from psych."

Another sound in the waiting room drew K'os' attention and his eyes fixed on a little girl sitting on her mother's lap. The mother looked worried, and exhausted. "Do you want to read a book?" The mother asked, though she was distracted with whatever was happening beyond the double doors they sat next to.

"No." The little girl pouted. In a mewling sort of voice she said, "I wanna play with Jeremy."

"We can go see him soon." The mother said, bouncing her knee nervously.

K'os was struck with feelings of anger for what he perceived as a lie. He squeezed his eyes shut at the thoughts that had nearly boiled to rage. He needed his mother here to ground him. To touch the skin of his face and nudge the feelings of anger out of his mind. While a few deep breaths allowed the anger to simmer, he couldn't help but feel the near overwhelming feelings of sadness that washed over him at the thought that is mother wasn't there to do that for him anymore.

Though his fists were clenched, he forced himself to retrieve the small sketchbook he kept in his pocket. He flipped through various, brightly coloured drawings till he found the blank page where he'd been pressing a purple flower. He lightly touched the edges of it. He'd picked it during his walk to school, intending it for his mother. He forced his fists to relax, knowing the anger within him would just continue to grow and grow in his mind unless he could relax or go for a walk. He peeled the flower away from the page and moved the few paces towards the little girl. He stretched out his hand without a word and offered it to her. When the delicate little hand had taken it, he attempted a flicker of a smile towards the mother through his tears before he turned and wordlessly began wandering the halls in a daze.

There are still times when I wish my mother were here to see the man that I'm becoming. The control I've learned to assert over myself. There are even more times I wish that my mother's death hadn't ruined my relationship with my father. To this day, it's hard to think of him without becoming angry or upset. Anger is a constant companion. Next to feeling love, anger is the single easiest emotion to let get out of control for me. Once it starts to boil, much like the pleasures of intimacy, it just heightens itself into a flurry of physical sensations. Yet despite this, through my control, I know peace. A peace that beautifully contradicts itself as it produces feelings of comfort.

But also of loneliness.

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