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What did it mean to be human? What did it mean to be alive?
Philosophers of every generation have pondered this very question since humans gained the ability of coherent thought. It's only natural, to question one's own existence. So little is made apparent. You breathe. You blink. You eat. You sleep. There are few things that come without consideration.
Much older, wiser men have pondered the meaning of life. It was a conversation to be had in relation to many things much bigger than humanity. These are the conversations made to be had in the earliest hours of the morning, when the brain is so exhausted by the day prior that it cannot help but ponder itself. These were questions not fit for a teenage boy.
And yet he had found himself asking these same questions from a very young age. Was he human? Was he a monster? Was he something in between? Or, better yet, could he be divine?
Félix was always acutely aware of what he was— a being of pure emotion. He was not born of flesh and blood. He was not a child of the dirt, or the ocean, nor was he a child of stardust. His very existence hinged on another, hinged on their emotions strong enough to conceive something as hideous as he.
He had found many words throughout his life to describe what he was. Facsimile, substitute, simulacrum, supernova. Like all living creatures, he knew that he was little more than a frightened nanosecond to the universe.
He knew what he was, and he knew what he was created to be; a child spun perfect and pale, his very skin like a delicate silk. And so many times that silk had been torn, stained, blemished, burned, and every mark still remained. He hated having a constant reminder of what he was born to be.
He wasn't born at all, he was kidding himself. He knew what he was. What frightened and excited him is what he could become.
Félix was a creature- a monster to some- made of the most tightly wound emotion. Desperation, excitement, fear, grief, pain, all culminating in whatever horrid flash of light could've produced him. He was born of and he was emotion.
And so, pondering his existence like many who came before him; many who do not share his blood, nor his eyes, nor his heart, Félix came to a simple conclusion.
He was created of emotion. That's all he was; emotion. Thus,
above all else,
do not feel.