Dormiveglia

"Yes, I used to be in love."

"And that is precisely why you are in rehabilitation. Come and sit down."

"I'd rather not. Do you think the people out there are as happy as the government led us to believe? They seem beige to me--pleasant, flawless, but devoid somehow. I wonder if they have dreams of their own anymore."

"Uncle...please stop talking."

"You should listen to your nephew. The consequences of rejecting another union aren't only yours. The government algorithms always choose the perfect soulmates, and you've denied them four times. If it decides there is a flaw in your entire genetic line, then..."

"You shove the fatal hypodermic on your desk into an innocent's arm and call it correction? Fine. And, for the record, it isn't like I haven't tried. I just can't help finding all of them repulsive."

"Uncle, it might get easier when it's your only option."

"Exactly. And incentivization never hurts. You find them repulsive because deviant love still exists in your subconscious, Jasper. But, once we uncover the reason for holding on to those feelings, they can be erased. Come and sit. Let us talk it through. You used to be in love with..."

"His name was Thomas. We dated during our sanctioned year of exploration. He was an art student with dreams of being a gallery director. We'd spend our time exploring new exhibits and old museums looking at the Masters. He'd pour over his books, quiz me on them until my eyes glazed over, then..."

"You were both young and those feelings can be forgiven. I believe I had them once myself. But why are you holding on?"

"I think... I think because he showed me something neither one of us were meant to see."

"Go on."

"We were at a Monet exhibit when he discovered something within one of the paintings. The House Among Roses. Kept tapping the wall beside it and saying, 'Do you see it?'. But all I saw were splotches of violet and blue. I said 'yes' anyway but... He knew I was lying. Grabbed my hand and guided it along the edges of the two large rose trees framing the composition.

"He... he drew his words out like he was explaining it to a toddler. 'The hard line, Jasper! Monet was a brilliant Impressionist who used dots and patches of color to indicate form. He avoided distinctive lines. But that is a solid, albeit subtle, black line.'"

"Hmm, I don't recall any such thing in the painting. Did you see it as well?"

"No. All I said was 'So what? It's just a painting'. He stared at me as if I missed concluding something important. He was sullen for the rest of the walk through the gallery, only offering an occasional clipped comment when I asked why a series of still shots from an old crime scene and a painting of a monkey urinating were considered art. 'Reminders of how we used to be, Jasper. Before we let ourselves be lulled to sleep and everything became so…aesthetically perfect.'"

"How can you love someone with dangerous thoughts, Uncle? How... how his memory more important than me?"

"It's... you're too young to understand. I'm trying to..."

"Do not interrupt, or I will have you restrained. Your uncle is trying. Continue. Thomas challenged the algorithm?"

"No, not quite. But he did become obsessed with finding flaws, looking for subtle changes in art. The Impressionists especially. Perfection made him... sad. Once, as we exited another museum, he paused by the sidewalk garden and broke off a thorn-less white rose. Flawless, despite the 103 degree heat. He cried as he handed it to me and kissed my hand. 'I wish I had more time to make you understand', he said.

"Little by little, he lost his sanity. In our last moment together, I found him vandalizing a cracked wall in an old art gallery, his hands smeared with black paint. I tried to get him to run, but he refused to leave. Despite the sirens, despite the visitors walking by as if he were invisible... then the programmers came and dragged him away."

"And when you relive these memories, in dreams or in here, are the emotions always this intense?"

"If you mean, do I always cry? Yes."

"Then, to echo your nephew, how are they more important than your life or his? Why are you still hanging on when the alternative--the beige--is a better path?"

"A few reasons. I know--intellectually--that the government algorithms are designed to give people a place in a world that makes sense. Immaculate streets, free food and always flowering gardens, pleasant looking people moving with precision. But it's soulless. It took Thomas leaving to make me finally understand. Monet's painting wasn't beautiful because it was perfect. It was perfect because it was subtly flawed. I want the dreams, even the nightmares. That's one."

"And the other?"

"Because it isn't that I used to be in love. It's that I still am. I wasn't holding those memories just for me; I was holding them for both of us."

"And you hoped, somewhere in our reprogramming sessions, I would remember."

"Yes. But that was a mistake my nephew shouldn't die for."

"Then you will submit?"

"No...not really."

"Uncle! Don't..."

"It's alright. If I have to let go, I'd rather do it broken, scarred...but real."