Self Prison by Ezricheca Sielu (Christina)
	Author's Notes: This is based on a true moment in time. It takes place exactly two months before the last day of high school, and the year after the fall of a great organization which the main character was a part of. The room is much like I remember it. The chairs are all there still. The same broken blinds hang on decrepit hooks along the barred windows. The floor, once considered almost sacred, is now condemned. Tired filing cabinets line the sides, their treasures soon to be lost. All about the floor are tattered remains of a once great and glorious lifestyle. And covering an entire wall, hundreds, maybe thousands of dreams crushed, hard work forgotten. The hard work given for a common goal. I walked in that day, as on any other. A certain nostalgia would arrive, as usual, making me reflect on my life, and the choices we all make as living things. But this particular day, things seemed so wrong. The air was dank with despair. The acts and accomplishments of those before me began whispering to me, clouding my mind and haunting my thoughts. Everything was cold and forlorn. It was a flooding of emotion, of delicate strings holding defenseless children in sharp and brutal snow. I looked around at the others about me. None of them knew what was churning in my brain, or what they were missing. No one else heard the voices, or felt the pain. They had no idea, no inkling of what was around them. Almost disgusted, I turned my attention back to my work. Even that reminded me, however, and it pulled me back into the swirl of ghosts and confusion. I couldn't shake it. My friend, sitting next to me, was enveloped in her work, though it meant nowhere near what it did to me. She couldn't relieve me of my plight either. I stared at her work, not wanting to bother her, but needing someone or something to break my trance. Desperate, in pain, I closed my eyes, trying to banish these pure, undescribable things from me. Yet they clung to my soul, sucking my essence and leaving behind their own.  "It's wrong!" They screeched it over and over again, my thoughts benign in their omnipotence. "We're dying!" They cried, piercing my heart with shards of glass tears. It burned. I burned, with the desire to assist but my insignificance holding me, strangling me secretly and silently. "Help me!" The voice, so familiar, so near, so distinct. This one glowing ember, buried deep, reached for the warmth. I realized it had always been there, in my self, speaking to me, calling out to be whole. It felt separated from all the others, I could feel it. Its dilapidated core yearned for something out of reach. Feebly, its outstretched tendrils prodded at the delicate webbing encasing it in self pity. I tried to pry it out, but found myself absent. Frantically, I searched, always behind an intangible screen. Something was holding me from helping the poor, frayed creature within.  This escaped me, frightened me, and shocked me. Panic bombarded my senses, clouded all reason from the world. Denial struck me, affirmations ricocheted unnoticed, and the energy threatened to swallow me whole.  Suddenly I couldn't breathe. It was too much. I wept imperceptibly. The proper reaction eluded me. So, beaten and emotionally battered, I resigned myself to defeat. Every muscle in me became lax.  My eyes opened. I saw everything, grasped every concept, and accepted the reality of everything in front, behind, above, below, and inside of my world. I realized all. The prison of the voice relaxed, and I flowed out naturally and easily. The rush subsided, and placated, it quieted. The electricity dulled, and the fingers of frustration eased their firm grip. The droning persistence of the unanimous outcry settled to its usual marginal intensity. All of it, except that one familiar tune. It floated freely and blissfully in its newly found acceptance, one which had always been yet never acknowledged. It lived on. And I was at peace.