and at Veronica. I couldn’t conceal the struggle, against the pain my other self was conducting. I was too weak to conceal my anger and fear.
“This is all in my imagination,” I said with neither power nor intensity, “I must be dreaming.”
“And how would that be different from any other day of your life?” the archangel asked. “You’ve spent your years in computer simulations, indulging fleeting fantasies and fighting for their preservation, neglecting every good, permanent dream because they wanted sacrifice. And what do you have to show for all of your selfishness, you fool? You have nothing.”
A force went through me like a beam. I felt a renewed and powerful anger, the only emotion I had, which I directed at my perceived problem, which I routed the only way I knew how.
“I am in command!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, shouted to the family members, neighbors, and friends that I could use. “Stop them! Throw those two in prison and allow no contact! They must obey me, too!”
As I tried to apply my will to those in the crowd, though, they all vanished instead. Everyone on my side had deserted me, and I saw that I had no protection or means of enforcing my will.
My outstretched arm vanished from sight, for a fraction of a second. My eyes widened in horror. I nearly fell back into the chair.
“You’re sick, Brandon Dauphin,” the archangel explained. “It’s a disease that everyone is born with. It’s a disease that I cured for you as you grew up, and one that I protected you from. But then, your wicked creator threw her in your path. You didn’t ask for an experience so unpleasant. You didn’t ask to catch the disease all over again.”
My senses began going wild and I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if pieces of my nervous system
“This is all in my imagination,” I said with neither power nor intensity, “I must be dreaming.”
“And how would that be different from any other day of your life?” the archangel asked. “You’ve spent your years in computer simulations, indulging fleeting fantasies and fighting for their preservation, neglecting every good, permanent dream because they wanted sacrifice. And what do you have to show for all of your selfishness, you fool? You have nothing.”
A force went through me like a beam. I felt a renewed and powerful anger, the only emotion I had, which I directed at my perceived problem, which I routed the only way I knew how.
“I am in command!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, shouted to the family members, neighbors, and friends that I could use. “Stop them! Throw those two in prison and allow no contact! They must obey me, too!”
As I tried to apply my will to those in the crowd, though, they all vanished instead. Everyone on my side had deserted me, and I saw that I had no protection or means of enforcing my will.
My outstretched arm vanished from sight, for a fraction of a second. My eyes widened in horror. I nearly fell back into the chair.
“You’re sick, Brandon Dauphin,” the archangel explained. “It’s a disease that everyone is born with. It’s a disease that I cured for you as you grew up, and one that I protected you from. But then, your wicked creator threw her in your path. You didn’t ask for an experience so unpleasant. You didn’t ask to catch the disease all over again.”
My senses began going wild and I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if pieces of my nervous system