In Her Worst Nightmares 

A Horror SF story by EvelynHail

Dalia pressed the button that secreted prolactin and felt the characteristic burning in her eyes before she cried. She had once wondered why they were still using that archaic button system. The official version was that the pressure devices were more reliable than the tactile ones when it came to injecting accurate doses.

Within seconds her vision blurred. A watery film overflowed her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, all the way to her upper lip. The tears were warm and salty. She knew this because she had tasted them on occasion, out of sheer curiosity. Although she understood the mechanism of crying perfectly, she still found it strange. It was one of the many social conventions they were obliged to reproduce, just as they applauded at the end of a play or said "thank you" after a compliment. The old treatises spoke of acts that had had meaning. They were small gestures that had made people feel good, no matter how ridiculous it seemed. She didn't understand why they were forced to keep them if they no longer had meaning and no one needed them, but that was the way it was. Living in society meant following protocol.

The day before, Dalia had arranged with her colleagues to go to a screening after work. Once a month they were obliged to do so, as if they were part of an experiment. Each year it was the turn of a different group, and this had been theirs.

The ten of them would show up at the old multiplexes, where they would be shown a movie or a musical concert. Before starting they would be told the genre and what it was supposed to inspire. When they were told it was a comedy and the protagonists began to say their lines on screen, Dalia would press - with the precision and speed of someone who has done it thousands of times - the right combination to secrete endorphin, serotonin, dopamine and adrenaline.

Before doing so, she arched her lips in a gesture called "smile", which was said to predispose the brain to produce the hormones in a natural way. Like the others, Dalia doubted that it would have any effect, but there was no harm in trying it. The characters laughed out loud on the screen, and she watched them in fascination each time, trying to understand what they were feeling. At that moment it seemed to her that they were not human. She had tried to replicate the wiggles at home, but she had not been able to, and her face hurt after each attempt. Still, the combination of endorphin and adrenaline felt good, so he didn't mind it either.

On the other hand, the adrenaline when a horror movie was shown, it produced feelings of anguish that she did not like at all, and she only wished the projection would end so that she could return to her normal state. Some books said that people had been historically at the mercy of uncontrollable sensations that made them lose their calm, and that as a consequence there had been murders, wars and something terrible that they called madness. Dalia could only get a vague idea of what life must have been like then, and was grateful that she had not experienced it firsthand.

Returning to the present moment, she reached over and wrapped her arms around her co-worker. As she did so, she put her hand to her left cheek to brush away the cumbersome tears. Her sister had just passed away and they would never see her again. It felt strange, because no one knew how to feel about an absence. The disappearance of someone was inconvenient because you had to stop counting on her for daily chores, although these were gradually replaced by other people and other circumstances. But convention said that you had to mourn, and doctors said that mourning was an emotional outlet, so that's what they did.

They said there were hormones to which it was easy to become addicted, such as oxytocin, especially in combination with others such as endorphin. These were the ones you had to inject when, for example, you were in bed with your partner. Sometimes she forgot, which was inconvenient, because then she just wanted him to finish as soon as possible and to release her from his heat and weight. The small reward seemed insufficient for such paraphernalia, but social convention dictated that it was something couples should do because it strengthened their bond.

After saying goodbye to her partner, Dalia returned to the car and turned on the autopilot. She gave a specific command, and immediately the vehicle glided noiselessly away, bound for its destination. In Dalia's opinion, the only hormone that was worthwhile was the dopamine secreted at mealtimes, which they used to eat so-called healthy foods such as steamed vegetables or salads. Almost everyone cheated and injected a higher dose, because, although the impact of eating those foods was nil, they were not pleasant on the tongue or during the chewing process.

The afternoon faded behind the wide window of the floating restaurant where she had stopped for her sprout salad and artichoke juice. Shades of orange and blue slipped disobediently between the tall skyscrapers, endowing the landscape with an undeniable beauty according to the canons of the skyline.

Dalia pressed the dopamine button just once to enjoy the sight. She was afraid of abusing it in case it lost its effect, and sometimes she went whole days without doing it, reserving it only for special occasions like that afternoon. She blinked, feeling the rush of fleeting happiness that ran through her from top to bottom, and thought about how terrible it would be to be hooked on it.

What would happen if the artificial hormones ran out someday?

Would she miss them?

Would their absence push her to seek out risky experiences in a vain attempt to feel one last moment of happiness?

She pressed the adrenaline button, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Not even in her worst nightmares.