A Few Figments of an Idle Mind with Communist Tendencies

(What my friend and I cooked up for a creative writing contest at college... Believe it or not, we won!)

Scene: Medium sized padded cell with a television in the southwest corner, an aquarium in the northeast corner and a moving strait-jacket dead center.

Narrator: In this fickle, materialistic world plagued by unyielding capitalism rearing its unclipped talons on the helpless masses, who are disillusioned by plastic promises of freedom, truth, peace, perhaps love, held like a caged bird in a vice-like grip, there is a room.

Inside this room, is our protagonist whose emotions have bound him to the confines of his cellulose prison, and there is also a television.

Our hero (who we'll refer to henceforth as the Voice (Victim Of Intense Capitalistic Erosion)) has just arisen from sweet sub-conscious ignorance, to a whirlwind of cryptic emotions, trips and falls on the remote control and the television blares into life.

The Voice- What are these emotions I feel? From where doth these feelings spring?

Television- Thine emotions are thine own. Thou art only now realising them. Thou art nought more than a baby, filled with a plethora of emotions thou canst feel but not comprehend.

The Voice- Hark! I change the channel.

Channel -Tele switches to a scene when the voice is but an adolescent.

Scene: The voice, and his better half, seen facing the crimson sunset, the autumn leaves gently caressing the landscape, an air of serenity wrapping itself around the 2 souls, uniting them.

Narrator- The world that the voice finds himself today, wasn’t always so. There was a time when the birds would sing in the sky, and night sky would sparkle with the light of a million hopes, dreams. There was a time when the ‘voice’ was still heard.

Our hero remembers that he wasn’t always deprived of love, the strait jacket just made him forget.

Narrator: The Voice appears awoken from his pensive demeanor, with an air of self realization.

The voice: All this while the unending channel of emotions running through my mind doth deceive me, hast imprisoned me to my own prison. Now I realize I have imposed this strait jacket of sorrows, on my own consciousness . My freedom doth lie in my realization of this truth.

Narrator: At this moment, the stars shed new light on the Voice, removing the shackles that bound him to the skeletons in his cupboard. The strait jacket falls to the ground, and the Voice that once echoed through the valleys, rang in the hills again.