Trapped.
Trapped.
Trapped.
I paced my room staring at the white stained carpet.
Just bend over, put your knuckles to the floor and
do some push-ups or something.
I leaned forward a little, studying the closely
woven fibers that cushioned my chipped toenails. Then I continued pacing. I
wanted to and have the ability to but I couldn't do it. I hate winter. It’s a
time when darkness falls at six and doesn't leave until eight the next morning.
I am a day creature. I love the sunshine and early mornings that hold purpose
and expectation. Evening darkness means sitting down time and preparing for sleep.
I hate sleep. Sleep means at least an hour of
rolling over and over in a bed that creaks while waiting for my brain to relax
and allow for the numbing sensation of REM thoughts to settle over it..
The real problem wasn't the darkness or my creaking
bed. They were easy excuses. Ever since I was a child and saw my first adventure
TV show I had dreamed of a time when I would be sucked into another world of
excitement and survival. I would be a strong, confident warrior able to bravely
and kindly face all odds, barely survive, and return home. People think J.K.
Rowling invented the craze when thousands of eleven-year-olds wished for
Hogwarts letters and the escape they promised. It wasn't her fault that
millions wished for a chance at adventure, swords, conquest, exploration, and
the accomplishment of physical tasks. In reality, it’s the whole culture of
young adult coming of age stories coupled with an attitude of being young for
as long as possible and the need to make virtual or mental achievements the
highlight of young life that has caused the infestation of frustrated dreamers.
What good is a certificate? A sandcastle holds more meaning. No wonder video
games are popular. They at least pretend to have physical achievements.
It would have all been cured with a little dirty
work and responsibility. There is power in the pride of accomplishment
I stopped and stared at the solitary light-bulb that
limply pushed back the darkness that ebbed from two covered dark windows.
Bending down again I picked up a section of the newspaper classifieds.
Apartment rent has climbed a whole hundred dollars in the last year alone and
now only occupies a single column. No one can afford anything. If they still
built apartments that just had water and a stove I would have taken that in a
heart-beat. Who needs dishwashers or microwaves when freedom is all anyone
craves?
A degree I can’t use and a job that can’t afford to
give me more than six hours a week. A mother who lets me live with her and a
culture that calls this lazy at my age.
I've never been so frustrated in my entire life.
Adult-hood is dangerous, but there is no honor or
glory in it. There’s just a lot of scraping and politeness and rejection. No
great battles to fight. Just bills to pay. Comfortable life is so droll. Still,
if it means the safety of my family I guess I can’t complain too much. It could
be worse. We could be like the refugees who get shipped here from around the
world. They seem to be doing alright stateside, but I can imagine the stories
they could tell of their previous lives.
In the modern world, danger isn’t even on the
outside. All the war and battle happens on the inside. Hidden and secret.
Sometimes it leaks out into the news in stories about school shootings by the
demented or depressed or in the stories about the rise in suicides, crime,
obesity, and other sad things that happen because of what’s happening inside
someone. People blame the state of incomplete souls on everyone and everything.
Very few actually discuss battle strategies.
It is a very real war; the war of the mind and the state
of belief and perception.
Everyone feels alone, abandoned,
Trapped.
It’s all a state of mind.
Madness is rewarded sometimes. The great creators
and innovators of any day took risks and didn’t listen to safety warnings and
made successes of their happy lives. The rest were given strait jackets or
killed. The world is always changing always in a state of flux. It has forgotten
to live in a state of peace and as a result its people have forgotten live in
peace.
There always has to be “sides.”
“Christina?”
“Hm?”
“Deep thoughts?”
“Erm, yeah,”
“Care to share?” My sister peered into my room. I could
tell she wanted to enter and help and make my life better. But there was just
something wrong about allowing someone who couldn’t handle their own life to
try and fix mine.
“Not really.”
“Oh…ok then.” She quietly closed the door.
How do people find joy in this obliterated world?
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