I woke up in the middle of a nap, all sweating and panting, analyzing all the places in my room where I could hide. The fear of death has never blown me so hard. This ache for living has never been this dear to me. It was all in my mind, yet I thought it was time to breathe my last.
I felt what those 144 would have felt while drowning into the depth of that delightful demise. Drowsing under the stars perhaps to have another day; trying to escape the conning of life. My faith is slipping away. Do I bide my time for a paragon of virtue or do I sit back to rejoice the perishing of my being. I am here right now. I would be slain the next point in time. With each round of breath strikes harder the paranoia. With each tictoc leaps the mayhem.
Look what they have done: Leashing our thoughts, our ability to anticipate. That’s the worst thing you could do to the human race. And here we are captivated in the chains of their commotion; the more we try to cut through the more they constrict. And our minds are so weak to be prone to such irrational ideas. May be we are still in search of an identity, whether it be moderate or radical, in the relics of a bygone society. We cling to any conferred idea for the sake of acceptance.
So I lock my door and curl up inside the blanket. May be they will miss me out this way. I am not sure if I will make it to tomorrow’s sun or not. I am not sure if they will allow me to breath again or not. Even latched inside the chamber, these hundreds of doors seem insubstantial; they have taken over my mind. I can’t seem to breathe in this air reeking of fear. Maybe I own this body but my life is their ownership. But I am not sure how long I will be able to make it to the next day. Or the next minute. But I am sure about wanting to do one thing only: To be able to breathe with my own will.