A Moment in Time

Another Saturday passes by. The sun shines bright, the birds sing, the grass is green, the sky is clear. Thus, I sit within the confines of yellow; that sickly sea of yellowish peach that envelops the house. The computer screen flickers in rhythm with the monotonous drone of the tower. The clock ticks away at each passing, wasted moment of my life. More IB homework lays on the counter. "The more I do, the more that appears," I mutter to myself, "when will this ever end?" Like a robot without soul, like a slave without hope, I type on. I know my halfhearted efforts are futile, but the emptiness of white continues being filled by voids of black and on I type. I stop again and look around. The cell phone looks tempting, but who can I call that I can really talk to as myself? All it is is masks, I think. Of geek, of caring friend, of good person... I look at my neighbor's house in hope but my heart falters as I realize he's gone... Probably off with his girlfriend or crackhead friends. My car is gone, taken by my parents. Trapped I sit... I look around at my pocketknife in anger and despair. "No, not that again," I think as I look at my arm. I turn to the screen again. It stares back, beesichingly, wanting another bite at my soul. A storm of turmoil enshrouds my mind, but I push that all back as I launch the game, "Battlefield 2"; better called "Battlefield of the lost." I shoot at the terrorists with glee, each kill pushing back a problem in my mind, if just for a moment. But just as the soldiers respawn all the time, so do my unresolved issues, nipping at my mind, at my soul. I play on, with hopes of finding serenity. But the enemies keep appearing. The problems keep growing... Another lost game, despite my grandiose fighting. Typical... A horn honks. My parents have arrived. I close the game quickly. Alt, F4. As the door creaks open, I wipe my face, putting up my mask of happiness. Again a diligent student, I bring up teh essay window, and thus I type away at my life...Happy parents, happy kid, right? And no one knows, no one suspects a thing. All is "well."