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life is pretty lonely, especially when you are a stranger to yourself. being a teen is frustrating and simply transferring my thoughts onto this LCD screen makes me feel ridiculous, embarrassed, and like I'm over exaggerating which I probably am but who's stopping me? I recently deleted twitter. decided I no longer care for those >140 tweets, most of them were filled with junk- might as well create a blog where I can give every single detail to absolutely nobody since I am not really interested in any particular dude right now.. haha such a hormonal girl please get me out of this phase. I feel like my life is a hurricane stimulator. useless, probably gets bad business, caught in a gust of humid air, full of avarice, random to have at the mall, people walk past it like really- no ones interested. who goes inside those anyways? not going to lie I wanted to until I realized my nappy hair would become destroyed. blogging feels good, considering it is 11:37 and I've had a long shitty shitty Thursday I guess this is a convenient way to idk, release my repressed thoughts, yum Freudian theorist. in a way is disappointing how we learn so much about the man in psychology yet on tests there are specific questions saying to disregard his beliefs- I mean not to sound like a Dadaist butthe man didn't know better, was the first to open up the unconscious in his age, and In a way his beliefs are convincing. biology is cool but he could be completely right, but nope. he is dead and the world wants to just disregard his propositions. I really hope I don't die that way. God that would be depressing if somebody left their suicide note on this blogger app.. . speaking of a God I noticed it capitalizes it every time. I need to find a sense of hope, tomorrow I shall Google s arch for a Buddhist temple nearby. ok goodnight my arm hurts from typing all cramped and in the dark. 

Preface

Hello there fellow Liberian, human or whatever you name yourself to be. I lived a simple, sweet life in a very technologically advanced society until the age of 22. In my current society, you the public are the exotic, hearty animals of the wild. You are placed in an enclosure with corresponding eyes and bracelets like your other neighbors of Liberia since birth. Although you may feel restricted, unless that was just myself, you are to be thankful for the privileges you have and serve a duty as a patriotic civilian. You never know how other species have to push through life, or the last time you may see the emerald green leaves rustle in the Autumn winds in a natural song. I am the outcast.

Consequence

I lobbed into the spacious room with officials accompanying me. I was a young little woman, Liberian and humble. I was no longer viewed this way though. The grip of a jaguars hands was given to me by a doctor as I was strapped onto a cot. A cold sweat raced down my petite neck being absorbed by my golden curls. "You choose to support those dirty creatures? May as well become a part of them. The more the merrier" a man'a hysterically tyrannical voice said to me. Rusted tongs approached my face, left and right to the bridge of my pale stout nose. I screamed for absolutely no reason, nobody would save me from the people who are supposed to do right. The system is always that way. The pop of excruciating pain met my healthy fresh socket, swollen from tension. Black. Not knowing what surrounded me. A vortex of anxiety swallowed me. I was numb to the pain now. If you read this, be grateful for the gift of vision you have because for me, there is no going back.

Holographic Chains

Men in perfectly tailored, well-ironed pants yank my flailing arms behind my torso and lock my bony wrists together with a holographic chain. I, Abby Norman, had broken code number 19 of Liberian law. According to them I interfered with scientific study and disturbed the public. In my point of view, all I did was share my flashes with people until the puzzle was joined together like a force of gravity to a mass. Now at 22 years of age, my only family had been disappointed in me. They looked at me how ones facial expression turns when touching old, chewed-up gum coated in lint beneath an old desk. Was I a shame? Am I considered radical? All I did was do what the pieces said to me logically... It had hit me hard in the face that I was arrested for speaking my thoughts. We are all already enslaved, Liberians with the beautiful shiny eyes of pure emerald. Would I ever smell the sweet maple my mother used in her lumpy lukewarm oatmeal before I was shipped to my job?

'Coincidencial'

Now at age nine, I had began to notice things about the way other people perceive you. My uncle, quite the grump I tell you, spent hours endeavoring at his work at the Hospital of Liberia always looking for new genetic formulas. That is all he would ever mumble to our small humble family about his work. Apparently it was confidential. I had always been called Abby Norman, the freak at school, but I never took it to heart. "Why is it that we all have the same color eyes and nobody is ever blind like it was in 2020 Uncle? You're the genius here". In response? I heard the choir of crickets, the hibernation of a mouse. Maybe this is what created my curiosity, just the fact that I had no answers made frustration boil inside of my nine-year old body. My best friends were the ones who visited me at night, however they never showed their faces, appearance wasn't an object to them. They counted tales about their majestic old land they had until a few years ago. They told of their homes with an aroma of honey and sugar, infant creatures frolicking among the whipped periwinkle clouds, and all their experiences. I thought it was somewhat peculiar how they wore no clothing and had no currency or law system but then I realized I sounded like my old uncle and was repulsed.

Epilogue

Here I remain crouched insane, colorless, and trembling cold  for the fifty-third consecutive day, that is if my memory is remembering properly.In this clammy jail cell among hundreds of the creatures, their scale-like flesh sticky like the sweet sticky sap of the trees I used to explore. I was placed here by my fellow Liberians in the current year of 2076 and another hundred tedious years to complete in this cell. If there is anything being in this mess has illustrated to me about my own race is, your individual questions and explorations will never prevail against our kinds' majority. Please, listen for your own fragile-lives sake! Curiosity will demolish the innocent cat inside and out. Regret deluges out of me day and night for being so naïve to think that I could discover and innovate. Helen Keller, a mute child trying to express himself, a foreign exchange student making efforts to learn a new country's history. I share those concrete feelings of hopelessness, lack of warmth from my own species.

The Flashes

The Flashes. They always occurred at night to me whenever I shut my eyes for too long, in search of genuine slumber. At first, I assumed they were whimsical little daydreams of an imaginary creature's life. However, the third one was branded into my memory, scorching hot and horrifying. I was out camping with my neighbor and my parents, of course I was barely six years of age. These so called "creatures" were strapped up in a laboratory so bright you could here the buzzing of electricity flowing throughout the room. I felt tense, as if my nerves down my spine had been frozen, definitely a nightmare rather than daydream. All I could recall after the dream was a stalky web-footed naked creature whisper "help" to me, as if we were having a woman-to-woman conversation. The eerie part is...the creature stared at me with its hollow, wine red flakey eye sockets. Last flash, the creature's species eyes were periwinkle, just like mine and every other patriotic Liberian in the nation. This intense flash was the lighter fuel to spark my questions. My father always mentioned, "If you play with the same toys as your neighbor you'll be safe". Now I realize it is far too late to reverse the hands of the clock and my own actions that followed those hands.