Mask

The SKY is Burdened

It was morning. The fog seemed to hang low, as if there was a heavy burden placed on its back, so thick that it choked the sunlight from above. The sun was imprisoned behind the thick blanket of mist and clouds so that the atmosphere was melancholic and dark.

That was how I felt every day: trapped and restrained by the idealistic and "perfect" thoughts of the media and those influenced by it. The media would swallow people whole like a ravenous beast, and people were forced to succumb under its superior will. Those who failed to carry out its "absolute" rules were shunned from society and ostracised into a state of depression and turmoil. The people were coerced to oblige to these restrictive rules: we had to place a "perfect" mask over ourselves. We had to pretend that we belonged.

I slowly pushed away my blankets and climbed out of my bed. Although it was freezing, I fought my will to climb back into bed and I trudged across the ice-cold floor towards the full-length mirror, which was placed on the other side of the room. Appearances were important, and ignorance was futile. In the clutches of the tyrannical rule of the media-influenced world, I was scared to be who I really was, especially on the first day of high school. I was tormented in the past, and I did not want to screw-up my first impressions.

I packed my belongings and slowly walked on my way to school, wrapping my dark blue scarf around my thin neck and breathing heavily onto my soft, pink palms. The wind aggressively swept against my body in one full blast. My hair was being flung out in every direction alongside the powerful blasts and my body was numb in the harsh cold. The wind seemed to cry and scream in a cacophony against my ear, as if it was in pain. "It's already like a full on expedition," I muttered under my breath. Or, what seemed to be under my breath in the midst of loud noise in the background.