Dream - l.t {au}

3

I let out a long sigh of relief. Feeling more composed with their presence gone, I managed to take a good look at my home. There were pictures of Paris, New York and random beaches set in photo frames, begging to make the place look pleasant.

Shame it didn't work.

The interior design it self was characterless, vague and shapeless. Though any outsider would say it looked charming or even homey they didn't see that this lacked any input of my taste and personality. That was for a reason though. I don't have a personality, so they tell me. Nothing of my past life or who I am now matters to them. Just as long as it doesn't make people stop and question anything, the jobs done in their eyes.

I walked towards the photo frame that contains a picture of me and some people I have only met once in my life. Once. They were hired to take pictures with me, to pretend to be my family. I refused to do so but they were able to command me to do anything and that made me nauseated.

It didn't matter that I had, had a family, that I had family photo, nope not to them it didn't. 

For a long as I had this folder I would be under their power, rules and sick doings. Anger and the nauseous feeling I get often built up inside of me, again.

My mind raced screaming out that I didn't belong here.

That I was being controlled.

But if there was one thing I would pick up through out all of the countless meetings, its that you can't do anything that's seen as rebelling.

No matter how sick, angry and bitter I felt towards them, they could do so much damage.

And in the end the folder would be the only thing left to prove my existence.

My mother brought me up reminding me violence was never the answer. However, my father always taught me to be just as violent with my words as my fists. Their teachings brought this mess, it brought the folder and maybe if I my upbringing was altered a little and had less of a conflict between the two polar opposite characters I might not be in this situation.

I might be able to have my own house.

Be able to pay for it myself.

Have friends.

Have a family.

Have a personality.

And maybe not own a folder that contained the facts and figures that equated to me. Maybe to not own something that could change everything of my past, present and future. Maybe I would of been free.

That Thursday I took an oath, swearing to the grave I would never resent my parents.

But I guess like everything in this world, things corrupt, backfire and ricochet. We are made to break, to fall apart. We are born to die, we are given a life that has an expiry date.

Mine has been and gone.