by Monet Renae

Created on: July 01, 2007

I am trapped. Trapped in this prison in which I cannot escape, listening to comings and goings of those who surround me. "Poor Margaret," they say, "so many tragedies, if only she could begin again." But when did my life begin? Was it before I was born, when I was yet a fetal in my mother's womb? Was it the instant I was forced out into the world? Maybe it was when I inhaled the essence of life, that breath that inflated my lungs. Or maybe I'm not yet living. Maybe the events of the past forty-eight years have merely been rehearsals of a life.

So many conversations, all for not, I've been waiting. Waiting for life to begin, -I'm still waiting. I've not awakened though my chest rises and falls. The inner core of my soul has yet to soar free and it yearns to be released but I am confined to this shellwaiting for life or something like it to devour me.
Must I be still, silent, as life passes me by season after season? I desire to blossom, as do all creatures and yetI've been denied. Forced to retreat to a world of loneliness and despair. Oh how I've dreamed of the vibrancy of joy and laughter, of the crisp autumn breeze that frost my very breath. I've missed the warmth and glow of the sun upon my skin. I've grown cold and unwilling to embrace the gifts of everyday. I'm locked in a dungeon with no key. There's no hope here, no life. And what has transpired to lead me to this empty place, life, the rehearsal of it? For surely what I've endured is not life, but a cruel glimpse of that which escapes me.
How merciless life has been, how insipid are the images that flash before me. Wound tightly is the hand of time around the fragile branches of my existence. I vaguely remember the life that once was, and the immense sense of autonomy. I've not since my childhood been boundless in my actions. How did chaos come to overshadow that which I fostered?
My childhood brought me dejection from the very people entrusted with my care. At an early age I learned that life wasn't worth the effort of living. My mother, a recluse from society, life, - me, taught me well the punishment of sunlight coupled with a tonic. Sable, A former debutant, dreams were doused when she discovered herself scandalously unwed and with child. She's never forgiven me for my intrusion. I'd forced myself into her life, without warning or care. Altering her girlish figure, causing her torments at such a youthful age; who was I to interrupt the ambitions of an artist? I'd caused her to become hollow, lacking substance and focus. She'd been a socialite most of her life, now a pariah among her peers, she turned to drinking as a means of escape.

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