As he sits there in his old, green, corduroy, computer chair, he ponders his emotions. The way they work, how they make him feel. He pokes at them with his mind, as if it was a rotting carcass of a dead animal on the side of the road. He starts crying. He has no reason to; it is just the emotion that surfaced to his consciousness, like a whale breeching for air. As he cries he thinks of all the reasons he should and realizes it is but a waste of tears and energy. He goes back to his thought on emotion. This time he pulls it, like a needle and thread through a thick, coarse fabric. He punches his computer. The feeling makes small prickling sensations course through his body at the beat of his heart, burning as they go, enraging him. He thinks once more and the burning leaves his body. Once more he goes back to his focus on the mass of emotions. He squeezes it, like you would a loved ones hand. A warm, fury, almost beautiful feeling fills his abdomen and slowly branches out into other parts of his body, toward the very tips of his fingers, warming him as they travel. He smiles. He focuses on this emotion more until he can hardly keep his body still from the joy that it creates. He laughs. Still focusing on this feeling drawing out every last ounce of his physical emotion, like a bird of prey taking to flight. He sings. He then lets the feeling go, like a leaf is blown in to the wind, it flutters all about as it travels further and further away. The emotion is now a memory, to be kept in a magnificent library along with thousands of other works all stored for easy access, ready for when the time calls for them. He sits now, in his old, green, computer chair, staring blankly at the computer screen.
