"Alright, class, we're beginning with spoken word. Let's see, who shall start..." The teacher's eyes fell on her, oblivious to the red cheeks highlighting the chemical reactions of her nervous system being activated. "How about you? Please, come up to the front of the class and read your prose or poem. Thank you."
She released a breath and looked at me in the eyes; I gave her a reassuring smile. And so she began: "Micromanage every situation till it is pecked down to the birth of the thought in the transparent world of a child's mind. The burdening stress of knowing that instead of letting life shape the person in the mirror, one constantly is scrutinized and controlled by the ones who gave half of their genes. The constant rapid breaths caught in between the space of the lungs, unable to fulfill their roles, leading to a body unable to breathe, incapable of being in a situation where a simple test doesn't create havoc on the nervous system. Stuck in a corrupt system of robotic movements as they watch their peers laugh under the breeze, knowing their lives are anything but robotic. A constant circle of wishing for the night to come faster than time allows it, in order for them to be in a deep reality, where they are, for the first time ever, in control. A sickening maze with one pathway filled with insecurities. There are no other options, and the world is soundproof.
The world is soundproof. The world cannot hear your silent screams nor the pounds of your hands against the walls of your body. The world does not want to hear you, honey. As if being trapped was just not enough pressure on the glassed soul, the act of forcing someone to do oppressive actions while letting the opposite sex watch is far worse. Let the doll set the table, place the food in the oven, and hand him the bottles of chemicals, while he watches and spits on the floor. Another mess to clean. He goes to the bathroom to lie with the devil in his phone while the doll sweeps any evidence of the dinner and places his plate of desserts on the counter for him to pick up when he leaves the bathroom. Ah, but honey, you created a mistake.
The doll wanted for him to pick up something? Oh no, love, that will tarnish any speck of oppressive roles choking you like how a corset binds and molds your waist to a shape fitted for his dreams. And so when he comes and sees the plate on the counter, he asks if she is an unintelligent human being, to put it nicely. And then it is time for bed, to awake a few hours later to repeat her life three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Forever and ever till she finally wakes up and realizes she was never sleeping."
YOU ARE READING
therapy
Short Story"they told us that we needed therapy, as if medication and tainted words could fix broken toys."
