A sigh. We are hardly distinguishable from humans when examining our bodies. Yet, we are far more efficient and resilient. We can think of everything at once, making confident and swift decisions. Our productivity is much higher, and our nervous system is more resistant to stress. We are successful.
The ability to understand human emotions, but not to feel them – this is the gift of the Community.
I am Sophia, an Ephor who has dedicated my entire life to serving others. We share the values of humans, but we adjust their memories of past lives, keeping them an unknown scientific fact. For hundreds of years, we have appeared in the Higher World and descended to Earth to evaluate the work of other beings, intervening when necessary.
We cannot be misled or made to doubt the nature of the Community.
At least, that’s what we believed.
What is a brush for an artist? It resembles a syringe, and the paints serve as medicine. You approach the blank canvas, preparing to make a life-saving injection. With a light stroke of your hand, you begin to paint. Vital warmth spreads through your arteries and veins. Painting becomes a form of anesthetic. To convey the essence of the piece, you must engage every fiber of perception. The sense of reality becomes like an electric charge. Each spark must be preserved on the canvas, depicting the tasks set by the creator.
Constantin smiled at the sudden seriousness of his thoughts and glanced at his completed work.
On the canvas was a boy sitting on a bridge at the water’s edge, examining a pearl held tightly in his small hand, illuminated by the light. The delicate cracks and muted hues gave the piece the effect of an aged painting. The boy’s dark brown overalls and rubber boots reminded viewers of the fleeting nature of modern life, which would someday become an "outdated model."
Setting down his brush, Constantin felt a quiet satisfaction with his work and habitually made his way to the mini-bar, hoping to find something appealing.
Pouring himself the remaining Scotch, Constantin glanced at the clock. It was early morning. Dawn was breaking.
He approached the window in his bedroom and looked out at the empty street in the early hours. Taking a sip of his drink, he paused to gaze at the spinning fan mounted on the exterior wall. The hum from it began to swell in his mind, intensifying his heartbeat.
Blinking rapidly, Constantin tried to look away from the fan. The noise gradually subsided, but an unseen force compelled him to glance back.
The fan blades sliced through the air in a synchronized march, and Constantin instinctively grimaced, trying to suppress the unpleasant, familiar symptoms as he distracted himself from the nagging hum outside. He took a step back, intending to retreat deeper into the room, when suddenly, in the window frame – like a scene from a painting – the silhouette of a girl appeared, reflected back at him. A fleeting thought crossed his mind: the reflected figure was painted in the same colors as his recently completed canvas.
"I need to change my daily routine." Constantin smirked and took a sip.
He stepped away from the window, glancing back one last time. The silhouette had vanished, and a cheerful ray of morning sunlight blinded his eyes, inviting him into a new day.