Bloom, By Sara Spring

What have you been doing all day? I haven’t been doing anything at all, I answered myself. The inner musings in my head began to churn like oiled machinery. I am a machine. I make a humming sound. I move and I function without any control. My body is an encasement. My thoughts are a computer process and my body moves with controls.

I hear something clicking down the hallway; I deduce that it is a coworker. A shell of a man that has nothing inside that I can grasp- his actions are all I have to work from. The inflection and tone of his voice, a chirping sound he makes.

I can’t look at him for too long these days as I suffer from emotional pain. He presses the buttons that are embedded in my skin. Alerts sound off and bells are ringing in my head. I have to learn how to leave here soon or fast will not be enough.

The jumble and tumble of my thoughts aren’t enough for me to continue, it wears me out and I scoot myself back to simple. Back to the simple lines that were manic and oppressive at one point.

I’ve bloomed. This process is raw. I have turned my insides out and I am exposed. The harsh reality of waste is evident and now that I have bloomed I will die. The process will end soon and I will be gone. Nothing to memorize or commit to, I will be satisfied.

Leaving a legacy is a new prospect for me. I have always felt nameless and unified in my absence of palatable use. My sense of purpose has never been nurtured and I have chosen to float. I pass through this life waiting for my blooming so that I can fade away from my time in the sunlight.

Who are you? I don’t know, I told myself. What are you doing these days? I haven’t been doing anything at all, I answered myself. The inner musings of my head began to churn like oiled machinery. I am a machine. I make a humming sound. I move and I function without any control. My body is an encasement. My thoughts are a computer process and my body moves with controls.