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Liberated

Tring… tring… tring. The morning alarm wakes me up to this artificial reality. Its mind numbing beats are now etched in my brain. Sometimes I hear them even when it is not ringing. I have no time to think further as I am dragged through the tasks on this conveyor belt of a manufactured life.

The coffee is painfully insipid. I yearn for the bitterness that never shows. It bothers me and I wonder if it has scraped out my taste buds.

Time is always running out and I still hurry like a car without brakes. On my way, I hear the daily hustle and bustle of the city. The soul-destroying noise makes me nauseous and dizzy. I plug my earphones in but the pandemonium invades my beloved symphonies. Nevertheless, I navigate on. The buildings are tall and swanky. The roads are immaculate. It looks like a painting drawn with mathematical instruments.

I have the perfect job but I feel like a prisoner in this castle of mindless wealth. I move around like a hypnotised soldier. It gets overwhelming at times. Save me, help me, I want to say. Alas, my voice hesitates to announce itself in this lonely forest of concrete and metal.

The electronic screens stare at me menacingly. I want to smash the monotonous loop of their impeccable chronicles. They want me to be the same, but I want to be human. I want life with all its eccentricities and erraticities. Should perfection come at the price of my emotions?

I am not alone, though. Countless people walk with me. The thought alone is comforting but something is not right, I can feel it. They look alive yet there is nothing in their eyes. Shiny orbs of glass stare into nothingness and perhaps seek to light the lamp within. Drooping and quiet, they move around like shadows in the dark. Often, I call out to them. They do not say a word. Nobody does. Talk to me, I want to cry but my throat is constricted with insecurities.

Occasionally, I get a whiff of the weather outside. The heat, the snow, the rain and the wind. They seem like the wild and untamed earthly spirits unleashed upon me. It disarms me and suddenly I do not miss the sterile air conditioning behind tinted windows.

All the days are exactly the same. Tring…tring…tring. The morning alarm rings. But I have changed. Help me, I finally scream. I guess it is never too late to be liberated again.


© YellowStylo


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