Chapter 4: The Absence
291 Words
There were things people took for granted.
Warmth.
Excitement.
Desire.
Gunther remembered them as concepts.
Not experiences.
It started with something small.
At least, that’s how he remembered it.
A moment that should have mattered.
A deal.
A victory.
Something significant.
People had congratulated him.
Celebrated.
Expected a reaction.
Gunther had smiled.
Because that was what people did.
But even then—
There was nothing behind it.
Present day.
Gunther sat across from a woman in a dimly lit lounge, her voice soft, her presence deliberate.
She was speaking.
He was listening.
At least, technically.
“I don’t think you’re as detached as you act,” she said, studying him.
Gunther rested his chin lightly against his hand.
“And what makes you think that?”
She smiled slightly. “No one is that controlled unless they’re hiding something.”
Gunther considered that.
Then—
“What would I be hiding?”
She leaned closer.
Something in her eyes—curiosity, maybe.
“Feeling,” she said.
Gunther held her gaze.
Then, quietly—
“That would require me to have it.”
She blinked.
The response didn’t land the way she expected.
“Everyone feels something,” she said.
Gunther didn’t argue.
Because for most people—
That was true.
Later that night, he tested it again.
Alone.
Always alone.
He removed the distractions.
No music.
No scent.
No external influence.
Just silence.
He pressed his hand against the edge of the table.
Hard.
Enough to create pressure.
Enough to border pain.
He waited.
Watched.
Measured.
Nothing.
No spike.
No reaction.
Just awareness.
Gunther released his grip.
Studied his hand briefly.
Then looked away.
The problem wasn’t that he felt less.
It was that—
He felt nothing at all.
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