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The Price of Joy
An unreleased short story from the book:
The Price of Emotions: How Artificial Feelings Can Destroy Us
Daniel had always been consumed by the void inside him. He was never enough for himself. A lifetime of depression had molded his existence into a monotony of numbness—days stretched endlessly into each other, an empty echo of passing time. He woke up every day, not out of purpose, but because his body still functioned, dragged through the motions of a life that felt like someone else’s dream. The joy he had once known—long before he’d learned the crushing weight of loss, disappointment, and rejection—was now a faded memory. Every moment, it seemed, he was being swallowed whole by his own despair.
He had tried everything—therapy, pills, fleeting relationships—but none of it worked. The medication numbed him, but it didn’t fill the emptiness. The therapy sessions brought no revelations, only hours spent talking in circles. And the relationships, once promising, turned to dust as his inability to connect consumed each one.
And then, one night, he found it.
The ad appeared when he was scrolling mindlessly through his phone, too tired to sleep but too empty to do anything else. It promised a way out. It promised joy. The words on the screen were simple, and yet they felt like a lifeline, a breath of air in an ocean of darkness.
“Buy Joy: One drop, and you’ll feel alive again. Experience the happiness you’ve been craving. No more numbness. Feel everything. Completely.”
His finger hovered over the screen for a moment before he clicked.
The next day, a small, inconspicuous package arrived at his door. Inside was a tiny vial of liquid, dark and ominous, yet strangely alluring. The label read: “One drop. Pure joy.” Daniel’s breath caught in his throat. Could it really be that easy? Could he finally experience the alive feeling he had been chasing for so long?
Without hesitation, he uncorked the vial and swallowed a single drop.
At first, nothing happened. The minutes stretched, mocking his anticipation. He had been so certain that this would be the answer, and yet, for the briefest moment, he felt nothing but emptiness.
But then it came—slow at first, like the beginning of a fire. A warmth in his chest, a tightness in his stomach. It spread outward, the sensation moving through his limbs, lighting up his fingertips. His heart began to pound, a rush of adrenaline flooding his veins. His mind sharpened. He felt alive. He felt real.
A small laugh escaped him, barely recognizable to his own ears. The numbness was gone. It was like a veil had been lifted from the world. The colors around him seemed brighter. The sounds were clearer. He could hear the hum of the refrigerator, the soft buzz of the streetlight outside his window. The pulse of life in everything around him surged into his consciousness, filling him with a sense of wonder, of elation.
He stared at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. He was awake. Alive.
But the high didn’t last. As the hours passed, the initial euphoria began to fade, replaced by a hollow feeling. A sense that something was missing. He needed more. The need was subtle at first, just a gnawing desire to recapture that incredible sense of joy, to feel the fire burn through him again. But as he reached for the vial, his heart raced. He wasn’t sure what it was, but the longing was undeniable.
The next day, he took another drop.
This time, the feeling hit him faster, more intense. It washed over him in waves, drowning him in an all-consuming warmth. The high was sweeter, more potent. He felt invincible. Everything that had ever weighed on him—the loneliness, the depression, the years of empty days—melted away, leaving only pure, unadulterated pleasure.
But it didn’t last. Again, the warmth faded, and with it, the same gnawing emptiness returned.
And so, the cycle began.
Every day, Daniel sought out the vial, the small bottle that had become his lifeline. He took the drops more frequently, unable to resist the burning need to feel that joy, that sense of aliveness again. His mind began to unravel. The lines between what was real and what was joy-induced blurred. At first, he convinced himself that he was just chasing the high, the feeling of invincibility that had once taken over his body. But it wasn’t just that anymore. It was deeper. It was more profound. He could feel his sense of self slipping away, consumed by the need for more. The more he took, the more the joy became a bottomless pit—one that could never be filled, no matter how much he poured into it.
His friends began to notice. They tried to reach out to him, but Daniel couldn’t hear them. Their words felt distant, as if they were speaking from a faraway land. The joy was louder than anything else in his life. It screamed at him to take more, to lose himself completely in it.
He started to avoid them. The world outside became an obstacle. He didn’t need them anymore. He didn’t need anyone. The only thing that mattered was the next drop, the next surge of euphoria. He became hollow, a shell of the man he had once been. He didn’t know what it meant to be happy anymore. He didn’t know what it meant to be himself anymore. He was just a puppet, a body controlled by the relentless need to feel alive.
And then one day, he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he felt truly happy—not in a real sense, not in the way he had once known it. What had started as a search for happiness had become an addiction, a desperate grasp at something that didn’t exist. He was losing himself. He didn’t know how to stop. The joy that had once liberated him now held him captive, its chains invisible but unbreakable.
His body began to wither. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin pale. He looked like a stranger in his own reflection. But the hunger, the need, never stopped. The joy had consumed him completely.
He reached for the vial one last time, trembling as he held it to his lips. But the vial was empty. There was no more.
And in that moment, he realized there was nothing left of him. No joy. No purpose. No self. He had bought happiness, and in the end, it had consumed him, leaving behind only the hollow echo of the man he had once been.
The emptiness came rushing back—worse than ever before. It was the only thing left.
And this time, there was no way out.
If you enjoyed this short story you will probably like our latest release available now:
The Price of Emotions: How Artificial Feelings Can Destroy Us
$3.99
In a world where emotions are bought and sold, the price of feeling has never been higher.
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