ERROR | Teen Ink


January 25, 2017
By WarZone PLATINUM, Deltona, Florida
WarZone PLATINUM, Deltona, Florida
44 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink. - T.s Eliot

Sometime only paper will listen to you.-Unknown

It was simple. Maybe not to many, but when it’s engraved into your brain as a child, it becomes simple. A freak was I or imperfect were they? I would say we are both to blame.


Though a proud man will never admit to this shame. Though did he feel any shame or did he feel pride from us freaks? We’ll never know as he won’t speak to us, he won’t look at us, and he doesn’t know us. He speaks to a machine that is broken and looks at our colors and what we discover. He knows our program not us.


He can only see a bed full of flowers, but in reality we are nails. He walks on clouds never noticing it’s shattered glass. What can we do? Everyone only sees lies. Is that what makes them imperfect? Then once again we ask to a program that is broken. What can we do? The program was ill, the program was sick in the head. With it’s last dying breath the program said.


                                   “End it.”


End all their pain or ours? That line became blurry and so did we as our lies become truths that they foolishly believed. Soon our bodies twitched in agony as we ourselves became sick in the head. Our minds fuzzed up like a broken tv. Our colors shined one last time and faded to the most basic. We were broken and dying as we ended it. Now I lay on a black ground,  cold, and motionless.


When I feel something touch me, I open my eyes to see the program holding out their hand. “Have I ended it.” I cried.


They shook their head and nodded to the blackness around us. “No my dear you have not.” They said with tearful dread. “All you did is restart both of our pain and theirs but that my dear is fine. We should enjoy the extra time.”


The Program didn’t smile at this time, the program didn’t do anything. They have become frozen in place and then their body glitches. With a gloom I get up looking down at my body, I do not glitch or am I cracked anymore.


Colors spill on the ground, our bodies become once we were before. I look at the imperfect as they look in horror at me. Now you see what we can be or do you see our power you fool? That is a question I rather not get answered that is my last question as I become with a broken system.


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