By Juliet Von Luft
The morning was new,
nothing askew
I rose with the sun
and fastened my stiff shirt
The fabric whined, stretched thin against the soft skin
over the body of mine
changing rapid, growing.
I was almost an adult the caregivers persisted
It felt that only a week ago I was twelve
It was understandable that I didn’t obtain a sense of time
The care givers did not teach,
they did not care to preach,
They claimed of their inability,
that we all were like a leech
“we would learn as an adult
The knowledge we needed to know”
We lined up.
Silent rows filled the hall
It was time again to take our pills
I approached her
The twisted smile overtook her face
Her dull eyes punctured into my soul
I wasn’t a fool to her act
I saw right through
received my cup
It was filled to the top
Not a breath of space
My curiosity overwhelmed by their watch
Surrounded
I did as I knew
swallowed the whole of it under her view
Her watch dampened.
They informed me of my time,
a year had passed
Eighteen years in the institute
I was an adult, ready to find my future
Eager, I animated a goodbye to the others.
The lights flickered as I walked through the door
It wasn’t a tale of my imagination I swore
The caretakers grabbed my shoulder firm
Pushed me out, the end of my term
The doors closed behind me
Masks dropped over their faces,
they held me still against my will
The air grew murky.
Without my awareness I gasped for breath
…was this my death?
I jolted for my escape,
No longer the future that was promised to my face
Their aching, tight grip thrusted me into belts
Buckling around my body I felt
My last sight was the masks wrapped their faces
Hovering
Holding me still
Everything blurred
My eyes rolled back
My soul no longer
I was a cadaver,
A body repurposed
The lights flickered no longer.
Photo credits: StockCake