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A Worse Idea 77

Randy’s emotions surprised him.

One moment, his emotions would be calm. He would feel like he used to feel — happy, or rather content. The emotionless side of him felt so good, compared to this new side of him, the side that so hated itself.

In the quiet moments, he would feel like he’d conquered the negative emotions. He would think it was so odd that he’d allowed himself to get taken in by them, so stupid.

Of course wanting to kill yourself is stupid.

It was illogical. It came from negative emotions. It was a permanent solution to temporary problems. Etc. Etc.

He thought the emotions weren’t compatible with his machinery. His software. His hardware.

Those thoughts weren’t him.

He would be certain he’d conquered them.

But then, sure enough, the thoughts would strike him. It might be in the shower, it might be out in the yard. It got the worst when he had to lay in bed, when the lights were out, when there wasn’t anyone to talk to.

It was just him and the voice.

The voice that wasn’t him, but the one that spoke clearly, anyway.

It said such soft, hurt words. It said them with a beautiful voice, but that just made the words even worse.

It said, I should kill myself.

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