A BRIEF AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, actually, I don't have anything at the moment...but I might need to later, so I'll just keep this little area roped off...
Wait, I remember--I was going to say sorry for a short first chapter. So....sorry. (And it's technically not a chapter, it is a prologue.) It's not angst. At least I don't think it is, anyway...We need more laughter in this world, dang it!
Also remembering--story also correlates w i t h m y o t h e r s t o r y βГοΚεŋ , a l t h o u g h i t i s n o t t e ch n i c a l l y a s e q u e l . I m i g h t j u s add it to this one, matter of fact...What just happened to that line? Wow...I'm not even going to mess with it...
Presenting a story that was very fun to write (and not yet completed, I believe, depending on response--and I'm not pressuring at all)...
A Сфмpℓєx Cфnunđяuм
Prologue
When you peel away all of your outside layers, what is left?
Take it all away....
What's on the inside of your own mind?
What do I want? Riches? Family? Friends?
Normalcy? Trust?
Recognition?
What do I want? Why don't I know?
My own mind can torment itself.
A rush of breath echoed inside of Artemis's ears, and he wondered for a moment at the sound, before realizing it was his own sighing.
There I go again, he thought. Introspection. My own mind tries to dissect itself. Impossible, at my intellectual level.
It takes all of my skills to analyze myself. Therefore, I am constantly thwarting my own attempts.
A circle. A conundrum.
He glanced for a moment at the camera, his jawline touching the wall behind him. The camera---a small red dot in the far corner--constantly relayed messages to the guards stationed outside of the main prison cell area. No doubt, it was also tranferring a live feed to a distant monitor---most likely, Foaly's.
A small muscle twitched in Artemis's eye.
He vaguely hoped that Doctor Argon or whatever babbling psychologist the People employed nowadays would not watch his tapes---although it was a vain hope. Eye twitching and sighing aloud....oh dear, what was Fowl coming to....
They were probably eager to stereotype another genius with a syndrome of some sort.
Flicking his hazel and blue eyes to the side, Artemis turned his gaze to his cellmate.
Opal Koboi had been branded with OCD. Fitting---in fact, anytime the pixie moved, her hair would shift slightly, and her fingers would automatically comb the strands back into the exact same position. OCD, along with a Narcissus complex.
Although obsessive compulsive disorder was probably an accurate description, Artemis detested the thought of sticking such a basic illness---an oversimplified preconception---on such great minds as theirs.
Such a simple label. It was insulting.
And that, thought Artemis sourly, probably constitutes that I also have an superiority complex. Obviously I hold all others---excepting genii---in low esteem.
Introspection. Again.
He sighed aloud, once again, and lay his head back on the cool metal.
What is it? What do I want?
What's on the inside of your own mind?
A circle. Conundrum...
When you peel away all your outside layers....
.-----------.
"Rice!" said Doctor J. Argon, a professor in the Brotherhood of Psychology. "Come quickly!"
"Yes, Doctor?" Reece asked tiredly, setting down her pen.
As she walked over to Argon's plushy armchair, Reece straightened her purposefully crooked tie. It was a fashion thing. But she wouldn't let it cost her job.
"Look!" he squealed, tapping the screen excitedly. "Look! Look right....right there!"
Reece blinked.
"Isn't it amazing, Rice?" he said.
"Yes, Doctor," she said aloud. Inside, she was sighing.
How in the world did he come up with Rice? "Reece" wasn't exactly the most feminine name, but honestly, it wasn't that hard to remember. Rice, really....she wasn't a gourmet food. She didn't even like chopsticks.
"And---look! Again! Why are you standing over here? Go! Write it down!" He waved a hand impatiently, never tearing his eyes from the screen.
"Yes, Doctor." It seemed like she said that a lot. She went back to her notebook of doodles and opened to a clean page.
"Now, watch carefully..." murmured Argon to no one in particular, waving a finger. "It's possible these are the early symptoms of generalized anxiety disorder....obsessive-compulsive disorder....And not to mention finally proof of pathological lying for the Brotherhood," he muttered the last part to himself, then continued listing. "Post-traumatic stress disorder....unlikely, but possible, bipolar disorder..."
Reece nodded, her braid bobbing, and scribbled furiously.
Argon leaned forward, pressing his nose to the screen.
"It's just a little twitch, but that's always a sign, Rice, always a sign..."