Stuck

Every living thing on this Earth shares similarities soaring off into space that when a foreign Earth member looks down, we all appear to be habitual and alike. Different species, mammals, reptiles all sharing atoms full of familiar fundamental forces. The force of each and every heart pumping, beating, dilating, constricting ties us entirely together as we divide our planet into sections that only appear to be visible by one organism planted in their periodic lifestyle. Differing species being subsided from here, billions of ants from an extent appear identical having the same structure, build, formations. The way they act, behave, and move seems to be absolutely predictable as the way they appear to live their day-to-day life’s as if it is already written. They read the book, writing it is not an option.

Every breath I take sitting, waiting, being a ghost apart of this constellation, inserted and glued, multiplies this energy I can feel constantly growing inside me. For this universe to continue existing this energy needs to be passed on to another substance in an equal give and take. A sense of disturbance to the scale of mass is all that I am experiencing. I am a baby bird stuck in a glued egg dying to break free, but I just can’t, time shoving you towards the wall leaving behind bruises to the brain. Pressure, tension, and tightness swims and circulates throughout the convolutions in my cerebrum as all the other's surrounding my daily routine seem to be just fine just circulating this state of surviving. As the years fly by this energy continues to grow, expand, and divide, conquering my entire body and my entire state of mind.

Dry words draining, dripping, drenching my dreams, these phrases have no means. They just let it be, they only know how to speak; articulating is not what it seems. I try to participate, I try to perceive, absolute absurdity dims their gleams. What was something turns into nothing, the baby bird never hatched free.

I sit with my ears unintentionally closed; my mind is detached. Within the early days of human existence communication consisted of information that threatened the survival of friends and family. Worries full of wonders of your next meal contrasted to worries about Jennifer’s new hair colour. As thousands of years past by, the number of new things to discover, discuss, decreases. We do not need to think about prey, how to catch, pick, hunt. Intelligence slipping away as I grasp for a glimpse of fresh air being a meaningful conversation. Instead, other topics that have been created to fullfill these missing gaps drown countless motives until the innovation is run dry from our lives.

My feet placed beneath my thighs, slanted to the right shifts my posture to lean against the desk. My gaze shifts from staring at the wall as my attention is struck away by the girl sitting to the right of me.

“What do you think Tash?” I look at seven open tabs on her laptop screen, seven different Wikipedia pages? No, seven different mini dresses.

“I need one for next Saturday that makes me stand out from Georgia.” She continues to chat, to reveal information about how she wants this boy to chose her. The girl sitting to my left joins. I try my hardest to let my ears open and take in this uninformative information she is presenting me with, but an eye drifts off and the other follows. Two guns firing into the sides of my ears, firing repeatability as I feel so confined in this space that is ‘mine’. Every second, every inconsiderate word spoken, every breath taken, the shoulders of both girls sitting next to me moves millimetres closer, closer and closer. I sit, my two hands placed in my lap to try and decrease the space I am occupying. I look, my two eyes gazed downwards towards the desk. I smell, my nose can smell their Victoria secret spray mist as though earlier at their lockers they put fifty pumps on their bodies. Time passes, my hands come out of my lap, I begin to open my shoulders and push them away, they move away, then they move back. I do it again. They move away, then they move back. But I stay I observe. There is nothing I can do in this moment to change the entire way they think. I sit and wait for this time to be over.

Four years eat me away as I am sugar in a room full of giant ants. Final school tests, final exams, final days sitting in a classroom with brick walls, plastic chairs, and locked doors. I watch my friends grow and I watch my teacher’s age. Some mornings are always the same and some are different. I take my last step out of this institution and leave my worries behind. I can do anything, I can be anyone, I can do as I wish and feel new things. I have no idea about what will happen after I get on that plane but I know it is what I have to do.