There once was a boy with a coin. The coin had two sides…heads and of course, tails. He flipped the coin for everything. Every decision he made, depended on the coin. It was no special coin, no limited nor collector’s edition…just a plain coin. “And he kept it crammed in his jeans” (Iron & Wine 2007). One day, the boy met a fine woman whom he had decided he wanted to marry. His heart had the answer, but he could not go on without consulting the coin first. You see, it had become custom to ask the coin for everything…even if he had already made a decision. This made it very difficult for the boy for he had fallen in love with this very woman, for he did not want fate to intervene. What if the coin had other plans? What if he was supposed to wait for someone else to come along? The boy grew angry at the coin, refrained from carrying it in his pocket and instead kept it in the back of a dresser drawer. Everyday went wrong, he thenceforth felt like he had no purpose, no destiny nor future. The coin had become a part of him, and he had since then left this part of himself at bay. He had left it at rest… The boy began questioning his love for the girl, he began questioning his innermost feelings and desires, over rationalizing everything and cutting corners. He did not allow himself to feel anything or believe it was real. His faith in the ever-prominent coin had become too strong over the years to just let go for this spur of the moment romance he was having. But…the boy was indeed in love. Every waking moment with this girl made his heart flutter, his palms sweat, his mind race and the coins presence drift further away. She made him smile when he was sad, laugh when he was mad and cry when ever she was down. Her smile captured his attention fully, her laugh released endorphins in his body, he had never felt such joy and comfort. Her hands in his erased every single tragedy and care in the world, the warmth of her body eroded away all stress and worry. Despite his efforts to keep away from the coin and despite his growing love, a part of him was eating away at itself inside. The boy he was before he fell in love. The boy with a coin. He grew delusional, he dreamt of never meeting the girl, hallucinated her death, envisioned his future without her, and cursed her for driving him mad. He made his way to the dresser where he had hidden the coin and in the angriest rage, desolated the entirety that was the dresser. He was frantic and unsteady, his palms clammy and cold, his whole suffering from Critical Paranoia as he wept and yelled to no one in particular. The moment his hands touched the coin, he let out the loudest cry for help disguised as a yelp of joy. His momentum landed him on the floor where he sat with the coin lying flat on his palm. He flipped it. Without even asking anything. It landed on the opposite side. He flipped it again, and again, he continued flipping without means nor the slightest thought of asking a question. It’s ratio of heads to tails was senseless to calculate and he noticed the ugliest smudge of dirt sitting right in the middle of it. He heard Jessica’s car outside in a split second snapped out of the self induced psychotic state of mind he was in. The car honked, and out of impulse the coin slipped from his fingers as he stood up. It fell slowly and hit the floor hard. The coin spun gracefully and abundantly before falling flat and still. Flat and still it was, flat and still it stayed, it did not move and it did not feel. It was a coin.