What I Was Missing All Along

Pictures were scattered all around my room. The walls, the floor, the table, everywhere! What remained of my crayons were several stubs from a fifth box, and every predecessor was rubbed thin across my room. I felt almost infinitely better, but. . .

A room that is cold and hard, and I am young. The huge man lay in a room of his own across the hall. Restless, I arise from what I call a bed. I walk over to a window that is almost a foot taller than I. I push a large box across the ground in front of the window, and hop up on it. Staring out into the night, I wonder why I feel this way, whatever it is that I currently feel. Besides the unpleasant bed and room, I feel I must be missing something. From what that man tells me, I have everything I could ever need: Food, shelter, and a job. I have some friends on the side, but we don't really talk, so I guess it's a bonus to what I need.

I have been here for years, and up until this point, I had been content to some degree with what I have been granted by this man. He was nicer than a lot of people outside this house. Nice compared to people outside this window. I've seen people killed by others, even by friends. Stabbed, broken, beaten to death, and sometimes I just see people disappear. However it happened, it never got to me. I would carry on from day to day. The next day was what I lived for. 

I just couldn't imagine why I so suddenly wished for something more. I had been recently granted a dagger for my own use. It wasn't anything spectacular. It was sharp, sturdy, and no longer than my adolescent arm, from elbow to wrist. It wasn't concealable, but it did seem to keep the more shady of shady figures away from me, who happened to stare at me, whispering their wretched secrets, while pointing at me. Boys and girls my age did seem to disappear, and occasionally reappear somewhere, dead and naked, otherwise to never be seen again.

I felt sad when that sort of thing happened. Once, I never understood why. Now I know, and it saddened me to see that there was that. Occasionally I would follow these things, and what I saw was. . . inexplicable. I never got caught, but I stopped the first time. It made me feel something deep down inside, what the huge man calls a soul. I thought I didn't have one, since nearly everyone here lacked one, but that made me question something I didn't care to learn about. But I felt my soul that day, and Soul was sad. 

Soul told me that there was something that this was misrepresenting, not only to me, but anyone else who saw. I never knew why Soul knew such things, but Soul was wiser, wiser than me, and so I listened. Tonight I look out the window, and see a women and a man talking on the street, between buildings, before walking away. I smile, but Soul cries, and I am beginning to understand that they lack something in what they do. Souls pats me on the back. Funny, but he never had a hand- 

I jump and shriek, falling off the box, and landing hard on the floor. The large man stands over me, his hand frozen in place, and a puzzled look is stuck to his face. He is no doubt tired, and confused as to why I am awake right now. He blinks, and I pick myself up off the floor. "Sorry, I didn't mean to cry out so loud, and fall," I apologize. He just smiles and moves the box so he can sit down. 
"I didn't mean to scare you. Why are you up? You realize you are useless when you are tired." 

I just stand in silence for a minute, and then I try to explain, "I- My soul wanted to see something." He just stares, blankly and tired. "The man and the women, they were doing something, and Soul- and it doesn't feel right," I touch my heart, "It feels wrong here." He looks out the window, but the people are gone.
"It's a business thing," he tries to explain "And a popular one around here." 

I don't understand why people could like it so much, but I guess it's life. "Do I have to do that someday?" I ask, fearful of my welfare. He just bows his head, a quiet chuckle somehow soothing me. "No, not if you don't want to. It wouldn't benefit me to lose you that. You would probably benefit me more by continuing your current work, than to switch to the love business." Love? What in the world is love? 

I've heard of stories of demons and titans fighting our heroes to the south and west and east, but I've never heard a story of love. "What's love?" I ask innocently. 
"What?" he asks, groggily. 
"What's love!?" He squints, trying to figure if I am joking with him, or am serious. 
"Well, it's. . ." He scratches his head. "Hmm. . . Well, you've seen those people outside, just a whi--" "NO! That's not love. I can feel it deep inside: that isn't love. What is it?" I correct him, trying to get the answer that satisfies me.

"Go to bed, and I will explain when I can think right." He just doesn't understand this, what it means to me to know. I'm not yet satisfied. . .

I'm not yet satisfied. All around, I see pictures of fantastic things: buildings, people, strange creatures, and past events that tickled my fancy to be recorded by my wax art. Some were just letters, poetry of both heroic and thieving deeds. And here it was, right in front of me. The answer to what I was missing. I curse myself for remembering a past life I wanted no part of. This is my life now, but something tells me I am in need of what happened before now.

Soul. I forgot about Soul, but I know better than to think that a soul could be a person or thing that speaks to me. I listen to what Soul has to say anyways . . .  Love! Love. Love is nowhere on any paper. I search frantically for anything. I've seen love before. I know I have! Where is it?! . . . Nothing. Nowhere. No love. I sit on the bed, and then I lay down, suddenly exhausted. "This is. . . what I was missing all along." Somewhere, love is waiting for me, but for now I rest. I know that finding love will tire me out. However, I will find what I was missing all along.