The Eye of the Beholder

I then came to a steep incline; it seemed only too symbolic of the day behind me. If only the road were smooth. I arrived at the top of the hill and looked back; my peers were still enjoying their soccer practice. To me it seemed so strange, so distant, that they could live on carelessly as the world crumbled around them. I turned and continued along my rough path.

In these days of change my moments of clarity have become far too frequent. In these moments my close friends have become objects of annoyance and even my worst enemies. I find myself tired of life and willing to do anything to get away. In these moments I feel sane, but what is sanity? What is beauty? Someone once said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I believe the same can be said for sanity. It was a moment like this that led me to leave.

I roamed deeper into the centre of town. My feet were bare and all I had was my grey bag bearing my togs. In contrast to my exposed physical appearance, my mind was dressed with thoughts. Not once did I think of the consequences. There was not a sliver of fear in me as I continued to glide onwards. Come nightfall, I was passing my old house, and the ominous Mercedes that I knew so well pulled up beside me. The door opened and with a gesture the occupant asked me to stop and get in the car.

I am now with my friends again. They have removed their masks and I now realise that it was not clarity before but a sea of murky anger and unhappiness. People seemed purposefully to forget about my problem that day. My friends are still my friends, but I can’t shake the feeling that one day my mind will run away again, leaving me mindless and willing to follow.