Belonging Creative - Not by Me

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  • 7/28/2019 Belonging Creative - Not by Me

    1/1

    Congratulations.

    Five syllables. One word. A million sparks of energy surge through my body sending my every nerve

    into a hypnotic awe. It was as though you were falling in a dream and being kicked out of it. A

    moment of realisation this must be just a dream, and for that reason alone I refuse to let it sink

    into my conscience. The world will remain a tone, a sound wave having happened to penetrate

    through my very existence, bouncing off the walls of my ears.

    Those alike to me filled their faces with confusion; a hidden envy for all that has been given to me.

    Each of their pupils reflects my own face. A face holding a balance of gratitude and respect, and the

    other an anticipation of disappointment. My role in my future has been just to wait, but after

    countless years of just waiting, the future grows dark and sneering, ugly and terrifying. Its laughter

    reverberating off the walls I have faced each and every day. The unknown becomes a scary place,

    when all you know becomes all you had my own defence is the reason to my hopelessness. I cling

    to familiarity only to find myself alone in my own confinement. My personal space lost its liberty

    many years ago. When you are handed the gateway, to an exit, the very though will literally make

    your stomach convulse. With every knot untied, the memories spill forward. I remember many

    things about life outside. I cannot let them slip.

    I spent my day is everything but thinking. Desperately, I attempted to keep busy. Perhaps all I

    needed was to remain detached and secluded. My friends began to distance themselves, readying

    for the very moment of finally saying goodbye. I nod as l walk through our gathering place; they nod

    back, dismissing my presences as a distraction from their own battles. I allow them that and feel

    nothing; to them I am now just like a mosquito that stings until you itch a testament to an

    unhomely invasion. I slept little and dreamt a lot. These were the symptoms of a troubled heart. If its

    disease could be captured by man and poured into a bowl of water, it will become a deep, inky blue

    resembling nothing but poison.

    Today was the day. Subconsciously, I combed my hair and made sure to stretch, preparing for the

    final exit. At the precise time it was planned, my name was called. I rose ever so slowly, my steps

    short and measured, I was concise in my movement, engulfed in so much fear of the unknown. The

    doors open, the slight arch of my lips and the goose bumps that penetrated my every paw, a dead

    give-away of the tension I felt.

    The screech of the cage door, at its monotonous pace, opened. My feet failed from under me,

    struggling to make the slightest movement my mind responded, angry, threatening one moresecond trapped here and it would combust, sending me into nothingness. The aroma of grass, wet

    rain and worms took over my senses, and before I could control it, my body took a hold of me and I

    leaped, spreading my wings as wide as they could go, and finally I was soaring. Everything became

    a blur, a mirage intertwining as I urged to go higher. The blue skies engulfed me, and the clean crisp

    air of the morning brushed against my blue and green feathers the warmth of the sun aided in

    illuminating the heaven-like trance I was in. Naturally, my wings flapped against the air and for a

    second I lose my surroundings, I come to terms with the feeling thats pounding against my heart,

    the feeling of peace, of home, of freedom. I cry out, and the familiar noise of calling my friends rings

    true and I find myself a midst the highest branch of a tree, chatting and pushing I was finally back

    home amongst my kind, amongst what humans like to call us as canaries.