"What's this that catches my eye, do you have a secret hiding underneath", he asked the chair. Deciding his inquisition needed an answer he reached up and squeezed a finger between the fabric material. The tip of his index finger is in a void so he pushes harder, ripping the fabric a little more. He squeezes two fingers and fumbles straight into a smooth lumped kidney shaped object. Probing the lumps sides he could feel the edge of a residue tape holding it in place. He quickly reached up with his remaining hand to assist the other in ripping the tear clean across the base of the chair. In full view the large broad bean seed was instantly haunting for many reasons.

Uh, how did you glow and how did you manage to catch my eye swirled in his mind amongst a growing anxiety. The largest of seeds and its significance only he was to know because of a very old memory. For years and as a young boy the memories were unusually vivid. They had repeatedly drifted through his conscious waking or while daydreaming. Broad beans had been a gift from his dying grandfather and second of all time memory from the age of just two. He'd kept the gift in a cardboard box under his bed, regularly pulling them out just to feel them until one day when he was eight they simply vanished.

The disappointment aroused suspicion upon his family, who took them only one or some of them knew and never was to tell. His mind suddenly swamped in questions before an intuition slows everything down. The world paused as he reluctantly forced himself to face the reality of what seemed only certain. The size of the original tear had required for the bean to be placed before the cloth underside was stapled to the bottom. Panic crept in; this was no mistake - this has been planted.

In a past period to life, he was enlightened to all his coincidences, the sudden knowledge on how free will can be manipulated and even stolen was a knowledge in the worst of times is simply best not known. From that moment on life was like riding up the Col Du Tourmalet while forever stuck in the smallest keyring gear. It never gets any easier and there appears no top to rise to when - as if simply arriving by email the new understanding of who and what is pulling strings from behind the veiled curtain.

The most painful revelation came in the form of shame, so surreal and as if delivered from beyond this world. A cruelty forged in steel and branded straight into the undeserved heart had left him with no hope or even for what under the darkest of shame clouds would only feel a blessing, and that was for his memeories to be simply wiped. He had hoped patterns would remain hidden and to never again pick up on signs or clues. Especially those he knew to be planted by the most treacherous kind of human beings, pure evil.

Of the ones that play the game by choice, asked or forced, he thought of all often and from all angles he could imagine. Who choose compliance, even profit, over conscience. Were they scared, happy, or just fundamentally different from him. This understanding he had hoped came before his curtain death.

Some days he believed it was jealousy — the twisted kind that curdles into hatred. Hatred with a smile. And always, his thoughts returned to their mothers.

Maybe they never knew them as friends. Maybe their mothers were cold, witchy, sharp-tongued. Either way, he couldn’t shake the image — their warped loyalty possibly rooted in: a mother who never looked at them with warmth, or the other simple thing and probably the most obvious: was that their mothers did not cook liver and bacon casserole like his. How could they have when it was the world's best.

The once a week meal would always bring him to the point of vomit while a child but when he'd grown older something remarkable happened. It was a reversal so profound and would go on to be the more unimaginable. From a Mother's confessions on how she so hated to cook - sisters tried, others mothers tried, the cafe's of England tried, restaurants of Paris and around the world all tried and none even come close to comparing to his Mothers worlds best liver and bacon casserole. A dish that was once so excruciatingly hard to eat had somehow magically reversed. And with that came a glorious and wonderfulest of discoveries, that his mothers cooking was actually better than she could possibly have imagined. This discovery is what they had also stolen from him with her premature end to life.

An uneasiness of tension fired through his heart with an irregular beat and goose bumps chilled the side of his head and face in response to a sweat trickle. "No way", he muttered before shouting, "No fucking way assholes, I am not playing your games."