His Isolation

I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone —
And all I lov'd —
I lov'd alone

Early in my days as a Runner, even before Port Austin, I was paranoid. More than I am now, I mean. I had no friends, or even companions. I was too scared to make any; anyone could end up dead, insane, or a traitor. It was inevitable, I suppose, that he would come for me.

It was already cold out. Then I heard someone singing nursery rhymes—muttering more than singing, really—and felt the temperature go even further down. I shuddered. I’d heard of him, but the irony of the situation, that my paranoia about endangering myself ultimately put myself in more danger, was not lost on me. You see, there is a Fear called the Cold Boy. He is the fear of isolation.

I started to run the other way from where I heard the muttering, but out of the snow and the mist, he appeared in front of me. I stopped abruptly and shuddered with cold, pulling my coat tight around me. I suppose this won’t come as a surprise to the brainiacs in the audience, but being around the Cold Boy makes you... rather cold.

The Cold Boy reached out to me as I stood still. I tried to walk away, but the cold made me ungodly-slow. His touch on my arm felt… strange. I could feel every facet of his crackling skin. I recoiled, and he pouted, saying, “You’re so cold. Don’t you want to be friends?”

I was thinking something to the effect of “not particularly,” but my chattering teeth kept me silent.

I woke up in a hospital, where I was being treated for frostbite. The doctor couldn’t figure it out; for most people, it hadn’t been nearly as cold out as it had been for me. He asked if I had gone into the water, and I told him I had. I felt bad for lying, but I couldn’t exactly tell him the truth, either.

The Cold Boy visited several times past that point, but fortunately, this became rarer as I started taking on traveling companions. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t come for me for a few years now. Doesn’t he go for people who interact with others, but still feel lonely?

- Poe