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Untitled by : Beth She walked slowly, from the car toward the building that housed the school, her feet plodding onward regardless of the depression, the rage, the sadness and loneliness and sorrow that warred within her. She wanted nothing more than to run, to get away from her lot, to get away from the hellion children she had been sentenced to teach, to escape the convent-like corridors of the house that had been imposed upon her by expectations and traditions and the death of her family. Yet still she walked, without a hint of the happiness that had once lent its spring to her step, without the barest shred of the joy that shed once showed at her newfound clarity of thought and perception. She had become a realist, lost all of the fantasy and joy that had once lent itself to her rich dream life. Instead, pain and anguish had become the words of the moment, and depression the diagnosis. Still, she taught; it was her lot, what was expected of her. She was a realist, and it was her duty to see that these children, these troubled youngsters were imbued with that same realism which had tightened its stone-cold grip around her broken and sorrowful heart. Only then, in the eyes of society, could they ever be contributing citizens. She never questioned that something was missing, not as she plodded down the blank hallways of the school, not as she taught, lifelessly, from behind her desk, not as she made her shambling way back to her car and drove to her ancestral home on the outskirts of town not even as she passed the park which had once been the play-place where she explored her dreams to their fullest. She dared not dream as she cooked her lonely meal, as she sat before the television watching Jeopardy! and Wheel of Fortune. She didnt even dream as she slipped out of her too-big work shift and into her plain, white cotton button-down granny-style nightgown. But when she slipped between the sheets, and laid her head on the pillow, braid swept to one side, and her eyes slipped shut for that last time before the little death overcame her, she dared to dream. She would dream of a castle, huge and glittering in the orange-red, disembodied light of his strange world, of a run-down, ramshackle little city, of a man, so regal and handsome that hed always frightened her viscerally without her understanding why. Then she would awake, fragmented memories clearing quickly as she showered, readied herself to teach again; they would be gone by the time she entered her car to make her way back to the school, and she would no longer ask herself did I dream it all? |
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