There is a girl.. number 2100, she is 18 years of age. She is to start college soon. Her mind flourishes with thoughts and attentions of who she is, the aptitude she has, and the opportunities she meets before her. With all her might she awaits her chance to make the greatest impact. With her mind rapped in gratitude... She will greet every party with as little material on her figure possible, hopes to absorb every eye’s devotion, drink 'til no liability may be placed upon her, she concerns not for nobody or no-thing, she’s utmost grateful for her ‘beauty’, and knows she has the aptitude to grasp every male in the room, however only chooses the one to be attractive, recognized by all, and up to her far-fetched standards. She reasons she is a saint, but to others she may seem blind and void. Truth is, she’s just as good as me and as genuine as number 6284.
6284, is 13 years of age. Her child is screaming in her arms. She cannot continue. She is alone; she is corrupt. She loves her child, but she is a failure.. and it kills her from within, and so she cuts her arms. The pain sooths her, and she releases a deep breathe of relief. The cries quiet as a drip of blood fell upon her child's cheek. Startled, she franticly searches for a cloth. Number 6284 looks the child in the eyes, and sees this untainted warm youth, resembling and slowly becoming the coldhearted monster she once knew before. She imagines her innocent baby grown. He abducts a little girl, ties her to the fens far out back. He hurts her, she sees the girl screaming, tearing to get loose, feeling the vibrant laughter through her bones, eyeballing the camera helplessly, and the powerless girl wished she were dead. She looks at her child once more, and senses the aching agony of her haunted past. Now walking along the narrow hall, stumbling onto the washing room. She kneels down and reaches her arms affront the whirling machine. With the child resting in her arms, She wants to hit him; she wants to beat him. She wants to get the monster away and out.. out of him. The child now placed within the halted machine, she lifts her shaky hand high, grasps the door for support, and arises. But as she collapses onto the sore-icy floor, the door shut close. She is broken, cradling the child in her bleeding arms, desperately trying to touch her speech… Pressing her words out in between shrieks for air. The more she screamed; the less breath entered her lungs. She cried before the lord begging, pleading for him to take her life. She lived a death, and long awaited rest. Gently leaving behind a kiss for her infant, she crawled to the drawer, and softly elevated the weapon. The weapon she imagined as her key. Placed her figure on the trigger, and as her last breath left, so did her soul. The number was gone.
These women were alike. They were born into a beautiful world, but were clothed in hatred. Their pure and loving minds were filled with negative images and ideas. They were pulled into the system and stripped of their creativity. They were so faraway lost that their imagination became reality. Their imagination, from witch had earlier been programed by their educators and synchronized to meet society. I share in common many qualities, but what we all have is an incomparable soul, a right to live in peace, and the incredible gift of the capacity to love. What I lack is the nameless will to massacre. Slay every truth, murder ambition and hope, slowly slaughter the belief of world peace, and unknowingly drown my soul in sorrow. I am of full self, and this is to be as I am life… not material.
They have no name, but a number. For that is what society deems them to be. Time is a number, age is a number, money is a number, and now sadly people are numbers. Counting does not reveal worth. What counts is not, what is being counted. The numbers with money well go far; those without shall be underdogs. However, a few poor numbers are fortuitously selected, as to feed false hope for the remainders. This system needs slaves, for we are all slaves when trapped in the materialistic world. We are born free and at peace, but our minds manipulated into a cage, our hearts wrapped, sheltered, and contained within confused emotions. We all have a time when we question the system, but society blames this on ‘teenage years’. Why rebel, if all is right? Why fail school if it truly serves you? Why do drugs if you are healthy? Why cry over emotions rather than feelings? Why speak when no one listens? Why respect when affronted and degraded? Why grow into adulthood if all one does is undertake the system?
Those who rebel know no other way to drive for righteousness and virtue. Those, whom claim to not care for education, know that their school holds no purpose in their life. Those labeled as potheads, druggy’s, and drunkards are not healthy. I am of full support of ALL drugs and plants, but only if used constructively and if the necessity is present. Many are torn down by society, and become addicted. They slowly become the drug. This is our society, you and I included, so do not judge your brothers and sisters. Try to understand their reasons, and help them regain their self. Those depressed, cry over emotions rather than feelings. Those who yell are most frustrated from not being heard. Silence kills, but no matter how loud you get, you cannot make another understand. Those who show no respect feel as if they are nothing. Their values have been taken, and now there is none left. They have no reason to respect such with no value, and such that condemned them as nothing. Age is a number, and I will not let my age decide my adulthood for I will never be an adult under the system. I am forever young, my values and morals never to be breached. Us numbers in the system, we are nothing. Nothing is nothing, so what is the point of the air in your lungs?
Join not the system, but respect it in peace. Join rather the cycle of life, uplifted with faith, and bound together body and soul as one. Feel the breathe of the trees on your skin, the rebirth of purity while bathing with the ocean. Feel the presence of love and unity when gazing into an animal’s eye, the energy of the son, and the beauty of the moon. Appreciate every moment given, and grasp every opportunity to serve yourself better. Listen to the Earth’s beating heart, stand still, completely still, and feel the world revolving under your feet. Tell me, how do you feel? Let your hope and courage grow, thrive, and blossom into a garden of faithfulness in love. For the Earth bound in love, is one. You are the Earth, the Earth is you, and there is peace.