Novo DГ© [DГ© - The Entropy Sessions

THE eNTROPY sESSIONS

A Series of Simple Conversations,

Spiraling Into Oblivion

A Novel

By

Novo D

Dedicated To:

Love and Loss

Without you, I would have never had the

inspiration to write this book

Contents

N ovember 1st, 2051

amn dragon. I, I cant stop thinking about that damn dragon.

I pause for a moment, lower my head, smile to myself, and release a small laugh through my nose. As I look up to meet the gaze of the doctor, I know what hes going to say before he even says it.

Lets, umm, lets focus on that, he replies. And I smile again, followed by a quick smirk.

I still cant shake it, cant shake that fuckin dragon. I felt it then, when I read the book decades ago, and I feel it now. It haunts me. Even to this day.

The Doctor of course chimes in, why do you feel like it haunts you?

I hate this part. I hate trying to explain how I feel about something.

I imagine that sentence is the first thing psychiatrists learn when they get to school; learn how to push the conversation forward with as little effort as possible. And of course after the grind of years, I imagine its become a tool to push the conversation to that hour mark so he can bill appropriately.

His gaze is sharp as I sit thinking, carefully gathering my thoughts for a proper rebuttal. In fact, I dont think hes even repositioned himself once. Much like a statue.

Just stoic and staring.

He stares at me with his head tipped down, slightly to the left, reading glasses near the end of his nose, digital tablet in hand, a caricature, a clich if you will, of what people think about when they think of a psychiatrist .

Dr. Christopher Cohen is his name.

With his white button-up and khaki pants, its almost like hes trying to fulfill such a look. But why? He must know he fits this stereotypical image. But he never really changes. Same look, every session. The worst part iswhy do I even care? I think that says something about me. He finally uncrosses his legs and re-crosses on the opposite side, breaking the trance of my tangent.

Time to speak.

Why do I feel like it haunts me? I say to myself in a whisper before beginning. Why do I feel like it haunts me? Because his actions make no fucking sense. He just sits on his treasure and does nothing. Yet he knows everything. He has all the answers. The past. The present. The future. He sees all but he does nothing.

Now allota people say that its exactly why he does nothing he can see through the universe, knows the fate of all existence, so he doesnt have to act. But the day a slave steals one piece of his treasure, everything just suddenly changes makes no fucking sense. Why such a fuss over a pretty little cup?

I pause, looking up to find the gaze of the doctor again.

Yknow its funny toostrip away all that analytical bullshit and all youre left with is a simple plot devise, a simple means to further the story and allow the hero to step in and save the day. Everything works out. Everything in its right place. But, for people like me, its never that simple. I want more. I need to understand the dragon. Why then? Why that cup? And of course the more I thought about it, the more I began to realize the fundamental flaw in trying to understand the dragon I was trying to understand him from the outside, as little ole me. But I realized I would never understand him that way. So I began to think about his motives, his actions, as if I were the dragon.

And the doctor begins typing in notes again, clearly summarizing the idea of such a statement.

I had to become the dragon. And the deeper I went, the more I understood the character, analyzing it from what I considered the inside. But no matter how far I got, I still never understood that moment.

Most people, most people dont even bat an eye at that part of the story. Its always the other end. Its always Beowulf. But I think the idea of Beowulf is easy to understand. On the superficial end, he is glory, he is righteous power, he is good putting an end to evil. Blah Blah Blah. All that shit. But on the deeper end, and most importantly, the more interesting end, he is the conceptualization of death.

Beowulfs demise is one of the first times in literature that begged the question, with the idea of death, where do you stand on life: does everything matteror does nothing at all?

Now thats the question that usually haunts people. Because in the end, thats just something everyone has to find for themselves. But thats the thing, everyone can find an answer to that question. I even found an answer, as strange as it may be I found peace in the idea that everything mattered and nothing mattered all at the same time.

And the doctor begins to type in notes again lost in his thoughts he has to get down his eyes cold, face emotionless.

I pause as a cue to allow him to look up at me.

I guess the point there is, I found an answer. I know its an abstract one, but its still an answer. But with the dragon, I just, I just, there is no answer, even to this day. And the worst part is, I dont think Ill ever find one. But thats what Im starting to think the point is, or always will be, never to find an answer. Stopping, I find my head rocking back without a thought, my line of sight meeting the ceiling.

The doctor looks off for a moment, and then back at me again, squints his eyes, and with his mouth partially open, you can really see the wheels spinning in his head as he gathers his thoughts.

Y know, I read Beowulf when I was in high school too, but Im not sure if I got what you got out of it, he replies.

Well. What chu get?

I mean, just that, a story. I remember Beowulf, the dragon, and that one, um, character he stops for a moment, frozen in thought. You can tell that the name is on the tip of his tongue. I tip my head to the right and smirk.

Grendel.

Grendel, yes yes, thats him his eyes widen a bit I just remember it as this fantasy. Some say, one of the first of its kind or genre or something. But that was it. A story. With characters, a conflict, a climax. Just a story.

I mean, yeah, but, isnt there somethin out there, that had a similar effect on you ? Something, that just, umm, got a hold of you?

Well sure, he says with a higher pitch to his voice.

Well thats just it doc. Thats my point. Thats the first time I felt that way and more importantly, thats the one that continues to stay with me. Ive never quite figured it out. And, and I dont think I ever will. And thats special to me in a way. Because its shaped who I am, and who Ill continue to be.

Pausing, I look up at the doctor and smile.

And thats what did it, I begin again, Thats what inspired me to become a writer; I wanted to be the creator of worlds. My own universe. A place where I could instill that in others. I wanted to be able to change someones life with the simple means of a story.

A smile looks like it wants to emerge from Dr. Cohen, but it doesnt quite get there.

Dont you see the power in that? I continue. And all it isis an idea. Mere words on a page. But to the reader, it becomes something more, the idea, everything. And therein lies the power. I wanted that. I wanted to use that to become omnipotent. Grand. Fantastical.

Cohen cant help but type in more notes with such a statement.

But umm, I dont think I ever got there. Ive written a lot of stories in my career, but I dont think Ive ever written that story. And when I realized that, thats when everything began to, to lead to. Thats when I began tothats when I

And I trail off, lost in thought, lost on how I was going to finish that sentence, and my eyes begin to water. Soon, I find myself starring at the walls. I hate this fucking room I soon think. It reminds me of a classroom detention hall, the same kind of classroom that reminds others of a prison.