Sometimes she wonders why she doesn't just stuff her face into a cushion and erase from her mind the technicalities of breathing.
In and out, in and out, in and out.
Why doesn't she just forget about it all?
Her answer comes in two parts.
First-the camera in the wall with its ever watching lens-smiling and laughing at her from its corner in the room, hiding prying eyes that probe her body and search, search for something she can't give-can't, won't, shan't.
Second-her traitorous mind and body that won't let her give, won't let her reach that paradise she had been promised since birth, that cause her chest to rise and fall in a steady rhythm, one, two, three.
She wonders, she answers, and she hates those very answers.
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Her Definition Of "Life"
Short Story"A sane person to an insane society must appear insane." -Kurt Vonnegut "she wasn't living" She truly believed that she had found the meaning of life. Or rather, the meaning of her life. "there never was anything in her" For her, she wanted to spen...
