I picked up the pencil, looking at the blank page infront of me, 'you must write about your wildest of dreams, write about your inner most self' the womanhad said in class. Write about myself?
What do I want?I want the sun to crash and burn, no more light for the world, it can be as dark as the hearts of the people that inhabit it. I want those with a wicked mind and soul to e trapped in an endless cycle of trial and punishment for their crimes against others. I want all those self proclaimed do-gooders to realise just how much they are lying to everyone, even themselves.
I want a monsoon to strike, taking out the wicked and self righteous, a drought to starve those who take from others. I want them all to suffer how they ahve made others feel.
The price we would have to pay for this? Our lives, no-one would be able to survive, we all opress those who are in our way, those who stop us from getting what we truly want. But is that what we truly want? Or just an in the moment decision, a selfish choice. Of all of the ways I could think of for each of us to sin, I think my greatest is fear, fear that I cannot change what is happening to our cultures. People no longer care for society or others around them, it's all about me, Myself and I. Those big boss companies control who we re and what we can do as people.
We no longer have individuality, and who is to blame? Ourselves? Our ancestors? Society? There is no-one to blame as we have all impacted this, we all allow for it to go on, no-one speaking up.
What do I want to do with my life? Live. I want to be free from these restraints the media has put on children of my era, was it like this 70 years ago? I doubt it. The thoughts I can have can inspire, but they can also tear anyone down, I hate to admit it but even me, the girl without a face or a voice. I can break a person with just words.
My inner most self is even more dark than you could imagine, all these words I use to speak of freedom, and yet inside I feel trapped inside of my own mind. Im held hostage by my own thoughts. I cannot speak of freedom when I am a prisoner to my own body and the voices inside which hold me back from saying how I feel, what I think.
My only weapon against everyone who holds me back, even myself, is my pen and paper. I am the controller of what I write, its my thoughts on paper. No-one can controll what I write if I am writing it for myself.
I only wrote one word to sum up everything. What do I want? My dreams? My inner most self?
Death.
