I've ripped out pages in my storybook
unable to face the facts of a disillusioned childhood
playground, swings, swinging high, swinging low
I must swing higher and farther
I must be the first one there.
I had to be the first one on the swings.
I must finish this assignment or else others will get to the swings first.
I must be first.
The words on my paper start to blur.
I start to care less.
I hear my name but I just don't hear a thing.
The only thing i hear is the ticking of the clock.
Each movement of the clock hands crescendos within my ear drum.
bum. Bum. BUM.
My heart pounds with anticipation.
Nothing else seems to matter.
Underneath the layer of sound of the clock a wave of voices start falling through.
The bell rings.
Out of my entranced stupor I fail to move as the kids scramble frantically out the door.
Like cattle evading slaughter...
...Towards a fantastical swinging freedom.
I look down at my assignment.
The paper is blank.
