Pisaries Creator

I wrote this while watching a movie as I sometimes get the urge to do this because I rarely do only one thing at a time except for a few things that demands my concentration. This doesn’t make much sense but here it is anyway. This would probably be better as a poem.

How twisted the sound of all the waves crashing against the large rocks as I peer down at the edge of the cliff. I don’t want to stretch my neck out any further. My head might betray the steadiness I think I possess and force my neck, shoulders, arms, torso, hips, legs, and feet to follow it. What a shame that would be. The pure beauty of the moment and all the wonderful fresh smells would be ruined in an instant. There is no going backwards in time, no reliving the truth and changing the lies.

I would not be able to scale the cliff, walking forward or backwards, because my ankles would be broken, and my fingers would not be able to grasp the rocks with any strength. But there are times when I dream of stepping off any cliff, and plunge into the water headfirst. The dive would surely kill me on impact, but why would I want to think such thoughts. If anyone found out, I would surely be committed to a hospital where no one wants to go. I’ve heard the horror stories of women, young and old, put in there against their permission. I don’t want to be one of those unnamed women whose name was lost over time due to the records being destroyed.

How silly it is to think the majority had any control over their faces and bodies. Their brains belong to the doctors and from birth they are sung lullabies of a different kind. They were never the keepers of their own minds. The rulers, the ones that make the decisions, made sure of this, and no one questioned what quality of life they would live. It was the right way, and the wrong way was punished. Each one more severe than the next.

If you managed to survive, there would be a greater hell to pay waiting for you once you healed. People never had a proper name for it. They only felt it in their beating hearts. Even the ants scattered when there was a storm brewing within the certain group. Nobody was safe. When the rocks were lifted by willing hands, the eyes never looked far enough under to see what was alive. There was something new to be discovered, but most of us never know what it takes to find it. We pause and stop when the momentum is a failure. I’m glad to be where I am, out of the misery and despair. I refuse to take another step without my eyes open. This could be all mine if I want it to be. The color is almost the same as before. We could be forever on this piece of land.

How afraid am I to miss something while the waves make sounds and the sea animals swim further and deeper into safety?