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A door unlocked.. a message unparalleled

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   For a baby, anything outside their field of vision ceases to exist, until they develop the concept of what’s known as object permanence; at which point they start to become aware that the object still exists out of their sight, and they start to look for it. Our oblivion to the terminal potential of all aspects of our life is not unlike a baby’s belief that what they see is all that exists. We’re often blinded by the impression that all that we have lasts. It’s only when one is deprived of something they never thought they would lose, that they begin to see through this illusion. In my case the cost of this realisation was the life of my teacher.    Although I often forget that myself, there had been a time when I absolutely hated maths. I wasn’t necessarily bad at it; I just didn’t like it. Up until the second term of fifth grade, that was the case. At the start of the second term a new teacher took over our maths classes. It shouldn’t have made much of a dif...
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My hand yearns to scream on paper, yet I can't seem  to compose my thoughts into words. everything is overwhelming, to an extent where I wonder sometimes if I am capable of going through this. What is it that I want to achieve so badly that i'm willing to sacrifice so much, to endure so much. Is it even too much or am I being petty? How many alcoves can I juggle before they all come tumbling to the ground, leaving me sore and empty handed. Or will I just keep adding more, throwing higher and faster higher and faster higher and faster until I get used to their weight in my hands, and until my arms no longer complain? And yet just as I start to get too comfortable with the weight, I throw in another alcove and force myself to throw even faster and even higher.
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The first

My blade screeches, the sound of metal against metal, as I slash my arm in a smooth arc, severing the automaton’s head from its metallic body. A spray of black blood erupts from the torso, drenching my torn clothes, as what remains of the automaton falls to the ground with a thud, joining its fallen brothers. I stand still, panting as I stare at the heaps of metal that clutter the back yard of The Institute. I slowly lift my head and catch Talia’s eyes across the clearing. She’s clutching her sword tightly, point down, and, even from this distance, I can see her trembling; her hair has torn away from its braid during the battle and her face is smudged with dark fluid that’s probably a mixture of oil from the automatons and some blood of her own. Now that the surge of adrenaline from the battle is gone, her grey eyes are wide with fear as they hold mine. She tumbles forward and lands on her knees, letting her sword clatter to the ground as she gives in to her tears. I start towards...
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