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by Mona N
Rated: E · Monologue · Biographical · #2044849
This is a reconstruction of one's life, bearing the luxury of being coherent all through.
I opened my eyes- then it blinded me. Coming in from every crevice, exploding in my pupils- what is this? It’s so menacing yet so beautiful as it creeps over every shape- engulfs it in its being. It wraps around the others. They’re people, it seems, but they’re giants, looking down upon my meager underdeveloped body as I struggle to fathom the situation I’m in. I was covered, protected by the darkness of the little shell I had. That is no longer the reality of my being. Now, the dangers of this truth surround me as I reside in the illuminated realm- a slave to giants’ hands.

I was in awe of everything- for magnificence seeped out of all my hands could reach. Some surfaces were not short of magical- so deceptive they let the bright monster slip right through them, not letting it know they were there. They were crafted into beautiful curves only my senses could enjoy, for the brightness didn’t know they were there, but I did. The giants weren’t pleased with my power, though, so my admiration had to be distant, but forever growing.

My parents are astounding. Perfection never had a clearer image in my mind, now that I see my mother and father stand before me, proud. They protect, they work, love, and care- all for my benefit. Why? What have I ever done to deserve such treatment? Regardless, I will not let it seep through my fingers unnoticed. I will make sure my appreciation is well known. They speak tales of me growing as they did one-day, and for that day I will wait in order to repay my debts. I doubt any other person on the face of this very Earth could say they live with their very own heroes.

My peers at school understand me. They know the struggles of one that has not been awarded the luxury of deciding their own fate. I am a pawn in the hands of my elders, a wretched game they play for my torture. They think I fall for their assumptions that they’re ‘oh so much more knowledgeable’. They think that their experience defines me. Nothing in existence has ever been more incorrect. I will inevitably survive the day in which the law will recognize my ability to guide myself. It’s not far from now that I get to draw my own path, as far from my family as humanly possible.

I hate that I recognized the carpet of time sliding underneath my feet so late. What am I going to do? Have I lost my chance at success? I stumble and fall trying to catch up to its speed, but nevertheless it surpasses my abilities. Maybe I’m destined to fail like the rest of them. College is great, but after this ends, then what? Maybe having a purpose is a benefit of the chosen few who grow to rule the world, leaving nothing but routine and controlled influence for the rest of us cattle. I wish I could go back to the simpler ways, when parents tamed the beast called time. Nevertheless, I can be that chosen one. I will be the one who prevails from the sea of failure, and I will be recognized for it. I will not succumb to the treachery of this fabric beneath me; I will play it to my own tune.

How can I get this work done before I pick Jason up from school? Maybe if I call Jane, she’ll be able to drive him home. Maybe I could ask my boss for an extension? He’ll never agree. He’ll see to it that my life is a living hell if I even attempt to earn the tiniest sparkle in my eye, seeing at to how his purpose in life is to limit even the breaths that I take. I hate my job. This is not my real job. My life is Jason, and Jason is the reason I’m here. He loves action figures and video games, and without this bitch of a job, he can’t indulge in the simple pleasures of his adolescence, and that’s far from fair. This is for you, sweetheart.

Jason, my boy! The Valedictorian! My pride just shot my mind so high up into the atmosphere, my consciousness is floating somewhere in space, boundless- limitless. He’s going to be the real deal- he’ll be the change this world needs! Now he’s going to one of the nation’s greatest colleges. How many parents can say that about their kids? Well that’s a trick question because I know! 1.6 percent of the world’s population of parents can! That’s according to Google at least. What a day to be a parent. I can’t wait to hear all about his college experiences. It just really aches my soul that he has to be so far away. I hope this doesn’t break me.

What am I doing with my life? Jason doesn’t need me. No one needs me. He’s got his degree, his wife- a family of his own. That’s my baby right there, and he doesn’t need me. His existence defined me. He was my very own contribution to this world, and now he’s gone, writing his own story devoid of me. What am I even doing anymore? I fear the resources I’m consuming on this Earth have surpassed the value of my presence. I am so stretched out over eons of worthlessness I forgot what it felt like to be centered- to be driven. I hope you’re happy, Jason my baby, and I hope you never let this happen to you.

My grandchildren are adorable! What a joy they are. I can’t believe Jason made these little boogers, that rascal. He’s really shaping them into wonderful young adults. He’s right with all he says about raising them, but I can’t help myself for giving them what they want. They’re tikes, still at the beginning of their long promising life, still at the start of their time fabric- stretched far ahead of them. How can I deny them the instant gratification they so desperately seek?

I see the end of my fabric drawing closer and closer. It’s never traveled so fast, to my recollection, in my entire life. It has never traveled so slowly either. I am stagnant in my rocketing towards the end. It nears, and I grow weak, as people take my hand and aid me as they once had in the beginning of my journey. They can’t communicate with me anymore, for I enjoy a different realm than theirs, one that surpasses their possible interpretation. I am far beyond their reach now, as my capsule- my body lies between their hands, incapable of much but inconvenient movement.

.x.
© Copyright 2015 Mona N (monan at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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