A Creative Response to Belonging

Ryans Story Untitled so far You stay in your room like a locked away Rapunzel. Well not locked in fact matter of the choice rather. Its like fiery dragons flame you every time you attempt to escape your temple. You study, you work, study again, read some, then you study some more. Its the same repetitive routine throughout your solar days between the same four egg-white w all in alls. No h wizardy oil sense you be told. None what-so-ever, burns your delicate skin. What are you supposed to do? Visit the magician of Oz and ask for a crackpot brain?Or maybe obsess with Thomas Paine for a hebdomad or two? No, only the flame throwers presented at the exit is awaiting your so called enlightenment and even the hurt isnt crossed knuckles with humiliation. You feel trapped simply simultaneously free free from either such connection with the fire you have been accustomed to or rather such societal tyranny controlling your every thought, presenting a more confused, liberated Ra punzel. You are somewhat attached with surrounding peck despite the closed door.An interconnected spiders web comes to mind, perhaps behind a series of branches and scuffled leaves. Even though you are somewhat acquainted with these flock, you can never seem physically connected with them. Maybe its the closed door? Or maybe its the fact that you over-analyse everything until the point where self-disappointment slaps your scarlet hard across the face. All you essential is to be alone, far from what these people trust, but yet want to be a part of the envious spiders web large enough for your contribution but possibly not strong enough.You think of a similar case of Emily Dickinson. She wants to post her letter, she wants to anaesthetise her poetry but in the end she doesnt because of fear. Fear of what other people may think if it, ever so lonely in her secluding room. That similar closed door painful to think about, but comforting to realise collectively. What people think of you, its a scary thought really. What thoughts scatter almost in others brains, without your control or prejudice. You look outside your window, rather similar to the day before.A sky filled with cloud secluding the suns precious touch. The lime tree half(prenominal) dying, half growing in the midst of an insect infested environment. The green grass connected to the thin term of stalk, come toes higher to the sky then your window does, awkwardly enough. You refrain from such a scene and reach back into one of your books awaiting another life far from here rather to the City of Invention you are peculiar about. If ever you yourself were to write a unexampled, short story, poem, script or anything of the sort it would be one of such power and profit.The antagonist would be a devilish character, somewhat misunderstood in more ways than one Then maybe your dragons could have spot for fame a Rocky Horror image without the horror. wait, maybe with the horror as well. The devi lish characters name would be Thomothius, Thom for short. He would attempt to escape the cannibalistic village he was forced to inhabit. A woman, always admired by Thom would stop him in his tracks and lure him underground. There she would drill question upon answer into Thoms poor glass brain until Thom were to surface again as a farfetched Steven King character.From this point in time, villagers reflexion this strange happening and fear for their lives. (Cannibals fearing their lives, who could imagine? ) The King and Queen Dragonheart would encompass their power upon the false notions of their people and hang poor Thom for the villagers to see like the mouldy and grass infested socks pegged to the clothes line in the shoetree of your window. This of course will create peace and prosperous tranquillity to roam around the various blood-stained streets, never really understanding what evil was present. Not really profitable when rethought about.Here you fall out of this novel and back into the silent pages you hold. Your silent tear will continue to rise like condensation, above all morals and belief that confide in your pride. From this, what is needed to be understood? It is that you will not discovery your Mr Darcy stuck between the space between your window and your room. It is that you will not have a happy ending unless you face your demons, or in this case dragons. Yet you remain silent in your room, thinking of how this Thom could be the only person you can really connect with.