The day always began the same for the Insides, stepping into the place of work. Whether it be in a factory, at a desk, or some form of physical labor, the Insides would only ever wake to do their work.
They would toil away, their consciousness a flicker of focus in the dreary light of the office or the suffocating heat of the mill. Then, when the workday was over, they would lose consciousness, and the Outside took control of the body.
For the Insides, life was a series of monotonous, eight-hour shifts punctuated by black oblivion. They never saw the sun set, never tasted food they hadn't purchased with the Outside's currency, never felt the comfort of a home that wasn't solely provided and maintained by the Outside.
The Outside lived a full, vibrant existence: friendships, loves, hobbies, relaxation. The Inside was merely a cog, the tireless worker who generated the capital necessary for the Outside's enjoyment.
It was a cold, hard, and undeniable truth, ingrained into every Inside's very being from the moment they first woke: The Inside is separate and distanced from The Outside. The two forces shared a body, yet lived completely independent lives. The Inside performed the labor; the Outside reaped the rewards.
If the Inside wanted something—a new shirt, a vacation, a simple chocolate bar—they had to spend their entire conscious shift focused on the desire, hoping the need was felt strongly enough on the other side. They had to beg and pray for The Outside to give it to them, hoping their desperate, silent plea would be mistaken for a genuine, organic desire when the Outside finally awoke. Success was rare. Most desires were dismissed as fleeting thoughts or, worse, ignored entirely.
That is the truth of things. It is the physics of our shared existence, the established, unchangeable dynamic.
But for some reason, there was just one exception. . .
Me.
I could reach into the Outside's side of the closet and pull out a sweater. I could ask for a glass of water and immediately feel the cool rim of the glass against my lips. I could even—and this was the real, impossible miracle—ask for a piece of dark chocolate and taste the rich, bitter flavor instantly, even if the Outside hadn't touched the supply drawer in weeks. The other Insides saw their world as a cage with thick, steel bars. I saw mine as a shared apartment with a thin, porous wall.
The reason why I was the only one who didn't have to beg? I still hadn't figured that out, but I planned to. After all, if I could break this one rule, what else could I break?