Dreams Who Never Come True

Chapter 04: I've Sprouted Splotches Onto Your Desk

I fall down to the ground, with all of the exhaustion in the world overtaking me. I didn't want to obey my father; I wanted to choose my own choices. I refused to be a puppet, an easily manipulated puppet, who will do what one wishes by just the simple movement of strings. However, I was that puppet, that robot coded to heed everyone's order. More of a reason to hate who I was, eh?

  I sit there, staring at the ceiling of my room. I envision stars, stars of all sorts, all clumped together in the darkened midnight sky. Stars of which held the wishes of many, in themselves, with mine out of reach. Thorns find their ways to obstruct my view of my star, my wish. I reach out, but then the thorns find their way to hinder me.

  The more I look, the more that star fades further away from me. The more barbed wires and thorns surround me. I... had no direction of freedom. I was trapped...

  Before allowing myself to dwell deeper in my thoughts, I slapped myself in the face. It stung, but those horrendous thoughts were smacked out of my brain.

I drag myself up to my desk in my room. I take a pen, and I force myself to write sentences. Then, the pen begins to leak. Ink, oil of all sorts smudge themselves onto the desk. The sight was a dirty sight.

  I drop the leaking pen on the desk, and take a napkin. I try to clean the splotches of ink all over the table, but it came to no avail. Once I've touched one splotch, the splotch would somehow refill itself. I try and try again, but nothing happened.

  More and more splotches scattered themselves around my desk. I pick up the leaking pen, and the ink drifts onto my hand. It finds it's way closer to the rest of my body, as if though it's intention was to consume me.

  I throw the pen away before it does so, and all of the ink it had just latched onto me fell to the ground. In a frenzy, I continue to try to wipe my desk clean. If my father saw this... oh I would be long gone.

  "Myeong?" I hear my mother call my name yet again as she opens the door. A lavender of which my father had probably given her sits in her hair, "What is with all this ruckus? Why is your pen on the ground?"

  I turn to my mother, then back at my desk. My desk was all clean, polish, crystal clear, as if though nothing had just happened. Was I hallucinating?

  I glance at the pen. It wasn't leaking. It... sat like a normal pen. There were no more splotches to be seen, everything was just... clean. I was hallucinating. The leaking of the pen, the splotches, all of that was just imaginary. I felt so foolish.

  "I'm fine, mother." I tell her. I say no more afterwards.

  My mother reflects doubt in her gaze. She invites herself into my room, and shuts the door behind her. My mother walks behind me, and puts her hand on my shoulders. She looks over my shoulder to look at me, who was standing still like one of my father's prized statues.

  She takes the time to whisper words into my ear, in a soft tone, as if it were to soothe me, "I have strong beliefs in you, Myeong. You can go above and beyond your father, you can do everything. Soar high above him. Fly high like a dove."

  She pauses for a minute, then smiles at me and continues, "Because you're Myeong-Jun. Everything will be over soon enough in this messed-up 'utopia'. Once the calamity is quelled, Myeong, you will see the beauty of the world behind the rotten mess. So now, learn how to fly, and fly high."

  I find the words of my mother comforting. It cheers up my broken self up a bit, of which I found pleasing. I nod, awkwardly.

  For me to fly, for me to achieve my wish, for me to do practically anything in life, I had to figure out how to clean the mess the pen leaked. That is how I interpreted the words of my mother. But just how could I clean the mess of the pen? Or the leaks?

  How could I remove the thorns of which blockaded my every path? The wires? I... I couldn't fly up and around them. There was no pathway. No other way but straight through the barriers. Barriers of which screeched death by just a look.

  Fear was a strong human emotion of which I felt on a day to day basis. I am fearful of this, fearful of that. I was a wimp, someone who held no such thing as 'courage.' I was perhaps a pitiful sight.

  Perhaps I was blind, perhaps I didn't look much ahead, but what was there to look for? A gap in the blockade? That would be highly unlikely. What else was there? A magical eraser to erase the splotches?

  My mother sends me one final smile before walking out back into the waking world. Now, I was in my room, all alone, as if though time had stopped itself. I wished by staying in my room, time would halt. That wasn't the case, however. No matter where I was, time would fly by.

  That is why, no matter where I was, my father would hunt me down like a hunter, tracking its prey. I was the prey, who could never escape the clutches of the hunter. As if I were a his prisoner, and my father was the guard. I had no such thing as an 'escape.'

  Those hooks, those vines, those wires, would wrap themselves around me, locking me in place. In this 'dystopia.'

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Bam bam bam i'm trying to make this 1000 words. It 1000.