Terminally Abstract

Chapter 2

"I chased the clouds, my dreams, my life. But that was before I realized I was afraid of heights."

I wiped my tears until my eyes burned. I turned up the volume to my music as if I could tune out my migraine. With every step, my skull tensed my brain, sending a wince to my crimson face. I couldn't let anyone see me like this.

My mother was right, I acknowledged what she meant. I'm in 11th grade and am not going to get anywhere with an art degree in the year 2130. It's only for the best. I just have to keep going, play along, and I'll make it out just fine.

I start to remember the first time I ever got a compliment on my art. It was from Arthur. 2nd grade Arthur. I could remember my teacher's glare near my desk, scanning my scribbles. Arthur didn't care. He had held the drawing above his head and presented it to the class with his toothless, goofy smile. On the other hand, my face had turned hot and stared at ground for a sign of what to do.

Turning to me he whispered,"It's okay. Don't care what they think. You can draw for me anytime."

I smiled bashfully. Noticing his sky blue eyes and band aids, showing no sign of pity or shame, I told him to keep the paper.

That was also the year I was called "Loose Wires", recommended by the teacher; trying to persuade the class that my abstract work was instead, a blueprint of some sort. Having the rumor spread that I was the only kid around who used colors for art would have had me bullied. Yet, such a good intention had already weakened my hope in obtaining support for my passion.

Even in elementary, students had already planned or were pushed to aid the most technologically advanced state in the world, California. It's surprising to have gained so far ahead in tech, seeing from a past perspective.

But, I could never forget the first time I saw an implant in the 2nd grade. For the only way to gain more technical advances is to be technology. The Robotic Race was beginning, and we had to get a head start. But no one could have predicted that such a small metal plate could override someone's emotions and creativity. I had seen it at the back of my teacher's head, at the bottom near her neck. I had asked my mother about it as soon as I got home that day, only to have her tell me that it was "what the successful people have to gain intelligent thoughts."

When she spoke about "intelligent thoughts", she inquired about thoughts that only showed curiosity to robotics. There is no choice for those who'd want a different path. The implant had already been signed into your possession after graduating high-school; where your senior gift would be implant surgery.

It is horrifying to see a metal chunk taking over 10-15% of your mind, and watching the blank gaze of adults going by their days. I could never allow myself become one of those robots. Just thinking about it would give me a cold numbness through my veins. However, the most terrifying thought is that my father had never fought against this cruel system. Like the coward he is. In return, he had surrendered his own son to society's reins.
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As soon as I noticed a group of high schoolers gathering, I recognized that I was near the school. I took a deep inhale and stopped in front of the main entrance. It was time for the routine school day to start all over again.

I breathe out and glance at a pair of blue eyes meeting my own.