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Description
Each day you stare out the plastic-paned window as if your life depends on it, as if the pastel blue sky and the ghostly pine trees in the distance are the only organs left in your body that have not been contaminated by greed's cancerous hands. You're weary of these busy-body students and teachers – they move to and fro on a sharp schedule like worker bees, never diverting from their convoluted paths and firm beliefs.

They frighten you.

When the waves glide past day by day you're swept off in the undercurrent of continuation and destruction, still frantically grasping at passing stones with desperate, bleeding fingers. What is your purpose? What do you live for as the morning tide rolls in and the sun rises a glorious red? Is it for the simple pleasures: sweet H20 on your lips, the warm comfort of dreamland as you linger in sleep, or your miniscule, ongoing accomplishments?

No. You sigh the word once every hour, breath it in like chloroform for the soul. No.

But despite your protests, your mingled efforts, and your frightened thrashing, you cannot break free of the masses. You're a fly to honey, the fish caught on the hook. It's too easy for you to delve into a universe of false smiles and useless motives.

Why do you, hour after hour, resort to raising the white flag?

You have no answer. Instead you reason with yourself, silently adding excuses to your mental list. You don't want to be alone. You have too much work to waste time worrying. You couldn't care less what happens, in the end. It will all turn out well. You feed yourself these lies persistently, grasping them between sticky, gluttonous fingers.

You wonder day by day what it's like to be away from this dangerous web. You've dreamt of the outer limits and you've imagined the taste of free air, but it never reaches your tongue. Questions tumble through your mind like clouds on a summer day or the end credits of a particularly tragic movie, but unlike these, the queries continue on always.

With your last waking breath you find yourself wishing that the thoughts of yesterday will continue on forever; that the curiosity and imagination preserved within your mind will never diminish, never abandon you for some other residence. Maybe then, you can survive tomorrow. Maybe then, the web will not strangle you with its sticky fibres.

Maybe then, freedom will not be quite as rigid.

Description
Each day you stare out the plastic-paned window as if your life depends on it, as if the pastel blue sky and the ghostly pine trees in the distance are the only organs left in your body that have not been contaminated by greed's cancerous hands. You're weary of these busy-body students and teachers – they move to and fro on a sharp schedule like worker bees, never diverting from their convoluted paths and firm beliefs.

They frighten you.

When the waves glide past day by day you're swept off in the undercurrent of continuation and destruction, still frantically grasping at passing stones with desperate, bleeding fingers. What is your purpose? What do you live for as the morning tide rolls in and the sun rises a glorious red? Is it for the simple pleasures: sweet H20 on your lips, the warm comfort of dreamland as you linger in sleep, or your miniscule, ongoing accomplishments?

No. You sigh the word once every hour, breath it in like chloroform for the soul. No.

But despite your protests, your mingled efforts, and your frightened thrashing, you cannot break free of the masses. You're a fly to honey, the fish caught on the hook. It's too easy for you to delve into a universe of false smiles and useless motives.

Why do you, hour after hour, resort to raising the white flag?

You have no answer. Instead you reason with yourself, silently adding excuses to your mental list. You don't want to be alone. You have too much work to waste time worrying. You couldn't care less what happens, in the end. It will all turn out well. You feed yourself these lies persistently, grasping them between sticky, gluttonous fingers.

You wonder day by day what it's like to be away from this dangerous web. You've dreamt of the outer limits and you've imagined the taste of free air, but it never reaches your tongue. Questions tumble through your mind like clouds on a summer day or the end credits of a particularly tragic movie, but unlike these, the queries continue on always.

With your last waking breath you find yourself wishing that the thoughts of yesterday will continue on forever; that the curiosity and imagination preserved within your mind will never diminish, never abandon you for some other residence. Maybe then, you can survive tomorrow. Maybe then, the web will not strangle you with its sticky fibres.

Maybe then, freedom will not be quite as rigid.