Freedom was overrated and over exaggerated, but Willow was too stupid to notice or care.
She hurried around the room, packing everything she thought to be important in her overpriced, designer duffle bag.
Not seeing the correlation between safety and freedom. Not knowing she was about to compromise the former in her search to attain the latter. Not knowing she already had the latter.
But she was too blind to notice. She was too blind to give a damn.
Willow wasn't a greedy child, not when compared with her siblings. But she wasn't an indifferent person either. The most significant characteristic of Willow was her ungratefulness.
Polite she was, always saying thank you to her parents whenever they bought her something especially special. But to say thank you and to be thankful was not the same.
Willow was tortured by her own being. She was a paradox; appreciative and ungrateful.
Ungrateful for her lack of experience. She had travelled to every continent of the world, visited countless museums, read extensively, went to concerts and parties, she'd even tried drugs.
But still, she felt isolated from the world. Convinced herself she had no experience of what it means to live. The reason she gave herself being she didn't feel a part of something.
And that was what tortured her on those nights she went to sleep before her body forced her to.
Willows frantic scrambling soon came to a bare minimum. And once again her demeanour personified the calm before a storm.
With one last glance she exited her bedroom of 18 years. Leaving with an overpriced, designer duffle bag full of unnecessary objects she thought to be important.
Objects that would soon hold no meaning in a world whose cruelty she greatly undermined.
She hadn't even packed a toothbrush.
