Monsters. By Tara Brooky.
On any given, ordinary day there’s a new child that is opening their eyes and taking their first breaths.
Innocent and blissful they grow up learning about the harsh ways of the world.
They turn into clones of everyone else with monsters trapped inside the plastic shell.
The clones march in a perfect line thinking of lies about pretty things to block out the scratching and screaming from the monster tearing up their insides.
After time, the plastic shell is bruised, dirty, shattering.
Most mend it with more plastic, praying the monster will be held.
No soul would dare to let the plastic fall to their feet and set the monster free. Let the monster whisper outrageous ideas into your ears. Let the monster consume you. Let the monster be you. But you do.
Now you are the monster.
Now you are a hideous, vicious creature. People stare at you because the unique things you do. And judge your odd looks and taste.
You eat others up. They eat you up. You kill. You deceive. You misguide.
Then after a while, you get tired. Really tired. So tired you’re tired of being tired.
No one is beside you to break your fall because no one cares about monsters.
You lie on the ground and start to fade away.
As your ugly body disappears, your hope that another will come pick you up goes along with it.
The music hushes and you die.
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