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Willing Ignorace, by Eleri

19 May 2020

While at home, Eleri from year 8 has written this exceptional text. It’s so good we’ve decided to publish it full in this post. The full text begins in the following paragraph.

Death is unforgiving, a rapacious hyena encircling a helpless creature; the victim of this predation wanders purgatory, seeking freedom from the slavery of the hunt. I see her: an innocent, my fair lover, struck down by the brutality of her captor. Her face is a drug, an addictive pleasure suspending time, but burning me with grief. She has been cruelly torn from my embrace, and yet, in this second – a solitary moment in time – she wears an affectionate grin, full of virtue and passion. My beloved, I am fearful. Is there be benevolence beyond the folding of your smile? I wish for you to hold me, a final tender clasp. But no, her haunting memory fades, and I am forsaken, banished to a land of agonising pain. I grasp this anguish until it welts my hands, traumatising myself, and vowing: I will never feel this again. No one deserves to feel this.

Transported to reality, I force my eyes open dubiously and sit up in bed. Alas, my love shall never reverse her demise, and the scars of the past remain. I am abruptly deadened by the intense light bursting into my room, weary and dejected as it pierces the stained, tattered curtains - it exhausts me of all hope with its alluring presence. My dearest is absent, yet these rays mock me with spiteful optimism and deceit. In dust and shattered dreams, I put my trust, immediately assuming it is a bitter and distasteful deception, and continuing with my disjointed morning routine. Desperately trying to find mercy from the ravaging light, I stumble to the side of the worn bed and stare at its emptiness. This chasm, an insufferable trench of despair, replaces the morning’s condescending smirk with a grimace of misery. I have become this pit - empty, with no aspiration or joy.

As the weight of despair builds up within me, drowning all rational thought, I rush to the bathroom craving relief from this torture. I seize a variety of opiates and sedatives; accumulating them over the weeks of mourning, it seems reasonable to take as many as possible to numb the pain. Then, I venture to proceed with my typical schedule, expecting nothing unusual – a colossal misjudgement. As I near the living room, a surge of euphoria engulfs me. This is magnificent! Mechanically plastered onto my face, a broad grin develops. I lounge on the sofa, feeling the effects of those wondrous drugs: the sheer rapture, the sensation in my spine, the lack of control I have. I choose, at that moment, blissful ignorance of my failures, and I will suffer no longer. The room rotates as reality becomes a mere dream; an optimistic expanse faces me, and I am its monarch.

The hallucinations begin, as I observe my ideal, irresistible future; drifting through the walls, I witness myself age eagerly: a career, a string of lovers and my diminishing troubles at a rapid pace. Built upon the distrust, sacrifices and darker times of the past, a flourishing person arises – a glorious phoenix soaring from the ashes. I see our society, humanity: a blind race, satisfied with their infinite distractions and its land of ideals. While the people get their technology and consumerism, the government, keeping the population willingly ignorant, they can use genetic engineering, propaganda, and subtle brutality to keep everything idyllic. No rebels; no revolutions. I beam manically at this; finally, a world where there is no more anxiety or disappointment, only pleasure and unawareness of the morose. A place of harmony and perpetual delight. My past will merely be a story in this shining society – a winter’s tale.

Abruptly, as I bathe on the horizon of my destiny, she comes back. A tender angel; my love. I feel a spasm of guilt, as I picture the impending lovers in her place, and my relaxation as she is forgotten. She does not seem to respond to my conscience, however, and stares at me adoringly. I stare back: her eyes are the sun itself, and her lips are as red as blood – her blood, spilt as she fought against the predator. I rush towards, desiring forgiveness and consolation; she embraces me, and I can be at peace. She beckons me, and I follow, mesmerised. She is my lady, my love; death could never tear us apart.


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