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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Even if there is a sense for difference, people encounter critique from the social norm. Belong or not to belong? Not to be or be? Society is there to house individuals. We are, after all, social beings who try not to fear critique!

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Submitted: May 11, 2009

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Submitted: May 11, 2009



I sleep ever so soundly, the warmth of my bed and covers prevent me from fully waking. A sudden noise, the noise of a lock being released, immediately makes me aware that I am not in my comfy bed; instead I am inside a cell. I wear clothes that do not belong to me, and the memories of how I got here are a bit… foggy. Luckily someone has just opened the metal gate that prevented me from getting out. As I begin to walk towards the exit, I struggle to remember if I've ever tried to escape before. I know it's unfair to be in this place, I think I must be here against my will. I look around and I do not remember any of the sights; the walls around me are new to me and my mind struggles to understand. I hesitantly walk towards the opened gate thinking that I have nowhere to go once you get out! Suddenly, I hear a clash from outside the gate: Someone has just realized that the gate to my cell is open. Its metal finality announces my sentence. The foreign room and sights are too overwhelming so I decided to go back to sleep, for when my eyes are closed and I am covered with this blanket I do not own, I am no longer in this cell. I am home; a home that only exists within my mind.

The shock is overwhelming; I can’t believe the amount of pain I am in. When I suddenly open my eyes and discover nothing but darkness. It surrounds me; opening and closing my eyes becomes the same. It doesn’t matter what I do, I can’t see what is being done to me, I just know it’s painful and I cannot help but scream. Scream? I can’t scream either, my voice is gone and any effort I put forth to bring that familiar feeling of producing sounds from the bottom of my throat is gone; alien to me, as if I have never spoken, as if I never saw before. The pain goes on and it worsens, I want to sleep but sleeping was what got me to this point. I’ve given up my voice, and I’ve given up the faculty of seeing things. I only know the pain that spreads across my body. I regret not leaving the cell and I regret not fighting against my own heavy body. But it’s too late. I can only hope that one day the excruciating pain will stop.

My eyes shoot wide open; images that I expect to see around me are no longer there. Before I was in a cell all alone, trapped in a place where everything was provided for [me]. Now I find myself in a large room filled with beds, many people are soundly asleep. A distant rooster announces daybreak. I close my eyes hoping to escape this confusion once again, but the more I try to fall asleep the more awake I feel. I begin to look around me. The time of twilight provides just enough illumination to vaguely see the beds in the room. There are about forty beds all of them housing at least one individual. I look at them with envy; I wish I could simply numb whatever sense of awareness is allowing me to stay awake. I think soon twilight will end and then I can ask those who sleep about my current location. It seems, as though hours continue to go by.

Then days; turn into months. I am awake and fully aware of it. The ones who sleep remain so. Eventually I grow tired with impatience and begin to think about waking those around me. I look to my right and I see a person standing there. Startled, I begin to back away from her, but eventually I regain my courage to ask about this large room. The person speaks with a nostalgic tone. The person explains that in order to fall asleep I must try to get out of my bed. If I do so I will quickly grow tired with the heavy burden of trying, then I will easily regain the -much desired- suspended state. The person goes to a bed where she quickly falls asleep. I try to ask about the place but it is all in vain, the stranger can no longer hear me. At least now I know how to be like the rest; I wonder if whatever life I used to have is worth trying to regain. I wonder if whatever memories I have lost are important. I wonder that maybe, if I were able to remember, I could have more motivation to get out from this room. At last I decide to stand up but as soon as I try, I begin to experience a strange heaviness around my body. In the end I decide to remain.

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