The mind remains the strongest prison of the soul - even the heart can bear witness to that. It is potent enough to hold one's entire being captive in its merciless grasp.
In our case, it holds precisely 6,754 people captive. The Elsadene Forest Men...
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In your eyes, I see a fire, A red-hot iris with a passionate spark, Rimmed with molten- gold compassion.
It was a fire that once burned bright- Now reduced to dying embers. Your voice echoed the promise of light, Now lost in the depths of the night.
A hollow cavern of false truths, A plentiful ocean of bitter-sweet lies, A blank canvas, devoid of hope, And the map of a road that leads nowhere.
Sometimes you try to remember What you had once been: A shining soul dimmed and burdened, With all the sorrows you have seen.
-S.K
Rani Patel;
Claustrophobia- the extreme or irrational fear of confined spaces.
The very fear that consumes me and suffocates me in its icy grasp every time I fall asleep, caging me inside. I feel confined within my own mind, as if my imagination is a glass box that I can't escape from. I can only watch in mute terror as the disaster unfolds, there is nothing I can do about it ; it can't be controlled.
I am the horse and an unknown force holds the reins , it controls me. I am the slave and it is the master of my mind. I am an outsider looking into my own mind, I feel so distant from my body- yet so trapped inside.
My fear is anything but irrational, though. It crawls its way into my mind through the form of spine chilling dreams, visions, each on sending me a message that I cannot comprehend.
It's time.. A deathly voice echoes.
Every fibre of my being screams for me to wake up- but the voice in my ears bewitches me with the very first sound. The words are like an alluring drug, soothing me, urging me to listen.
Its time..The voice repeats, louder than the previous tone. It chimes in my ears like the shrill ringing of a clock, slowly ticking away like a bomb ; like the force's patience.
Then, it explodes.
A deafening scream ripples through my body and after an abrupt moment of stinging pain, I feel a peculiar, warm substance ooze from the hollow caverns of my ears. My throat feels sore and raspy as I realise that the scream is my own. My eyes snap open, vigilant as always. Beads of sweat trickle down my forehead as I force myself to sit upright.
It is difficult for me to see in the darkness of the room, but I have always managed to perceive things that others cannot. My trembling fingers reach up to feel the substance, ignoring the pain as always. It is easy to tell from its deep, crimson colour and thick, sticky texture that it is, in fact, blood.
