ಎ WELCOME

SO.

This is certainly not a challenge for those of you that give up easily.
You can't just pick and choose which ones you want to do.
You have to do ALL of them, obviously.

HERE'S THE RULES:

1. Do all of the challenges! There are no losers or winners.
The only loser is someone who doesn't finish all of them. : ]

2. Draw, write, paint, take a picture, write a song, WHATEVER that's related to art the theme on the list. For instance, if your next theme was "Keeping a Secret", you'd write about keeping a secret, or drawing a picture of what it means to you, or taking a picture of something that relates to that theme.

3. Go OUTSIDE of the lines. If the theme is "Love", please, don't actually draw a cutesy little heart. Well, I guess you can if you want to, but THINK about it. Honestly, it's not that hard.

4. Each post should contain ten entries at the most (five if they're long). Once you finish one theme, just edit your post to put the next in when you're done.

5. If you have a picture that's BIG, link it! Otherwise, just slap it inbetween an [ IMG] [ /IMG] and go for it.

Which reminds me:
You DON'T have to pick one element of art and use it for everything. If you want, you can write a couple of them, and then take pictures of the rest, or draw every single one of them, and write a few, take a picture of one, and write a song for three. Mix it up, if you'd like.


THE DEADLINE.

The contest began yesterday - OCTOBER 22, 2007.
THE DEADLINE IS MAY 1, 2008.!!!
That should give everyone enough time to finish them all, if they're doing the challenge.
I extended it a little, because...well, I wanted to.
So everyone has a chance to finish it.

PLEASE, please at least attempt to do this challenge!


PRIZES

EACH AND EVERY PERSON WHO COMPLETES THIS CHALLENGE WILL RECIEVE THE PRIZE.

It's not a contest as to whom finishes first.
As long as you do every single one of them (and I will be checking!), you will recieve the prize.

And the prize is:

782 points.

THE LIST.


1. Introduction
2. Love
3. Light
4. Dark
5. Seeking Solace
6. Break Away
7. Heaven
8. Innocence
9. Drive
10. Breathe Again
11. Memory
12. Insanity
13. Misfortune
14. Smile
15. Silence
16. Questioning
17. Blood
18. Rainbow
19. Gray
20. Fortitude
21. Vacation
22. Mother Nature
23. Cat
24. No Time
25. Trouble Lurking
26. Tears
27. Foreign
28. Sorrow
29. Happiness
30. Under the Rain
31. Flowers
32. Night
33. Expectations
34. Stars
35. Hold My Hand
36. Precious Treasure
37. Eyes
38. Abandoned
39. Dreams
40. Rated
41. Teamwork
42. Standing Still
43. Dying
44. Two Roads
45. Illusion
46. Family
47. Creation
48. Childhood
49. Stripes
50. Breaking the Rules
51. Sport
52. Deep in Thought
53. Keeping a Secret
54. Tower
55. Waiting
56. Danger Ahead
57. Sacrifice
58. Kick in the Head
59. No Way Out
60. Rejection
61. Fairy Tale
62. Magic
63. Do Not Disturb
64. Multitasking
65. Horror
66. Traps
67. Playing the Melody
68. Hero
69. Annoyance
70. 67%
71. Obsession
72. Mischief Managed
73. I Can't
74. Are You Challenging Me?
75. Mirror
76. Broken Pieces
77. Test
78. Drink
]79. Starvation
80. Words
81. Pen and Paper
82. Can You Hear Me?
83. Heal
84. Out Cold
85. Spiral
86. Seeing Red
87. Food
88. Pain
89. Through the Fire
90. Triangle
91. Drowning
92. All That I Have
93. Give Up
94. Last Hope
95. Advertisement
96. In the Storm
97. Safety First
98. Puzzle
99. Solitude
100. Relaxation


WHO'S DOING IT:
adelaide - thirteen done
matt - fourteen done
arcana imperii - fifteen done
melody - twenty-four done
trepidation - zero done
illegiblyclear - zero done
doridachi - zero done
blueorca91 - five done
ladyantagonist - ten done
smah - zero done
+girl germs - zero done
amy - eleven done
titchyjo - zero done
black ivory soul - ten done
vincent - one done
rinote -zero done
francine - sixteen done
apocalypse - twenty-six done
alyra - two done
teslyn -
dani - fourty-five done







GOOD LUCK!

I'm doing all mine in short stories. <3 My camera broke a long time ago, I haven't bought a new one yet, and I certainly can't draw. So short stories it is.

01. INTRODUCTION.

I can't remember the exact time of day, or even the exact day that we met. I only remember the way it was. Cold. Rainy. Bleak. Dreary. Completely the opposite of how one might picture the perfect romance to form. We were both bundled up in our jackets, huddled on the front stoop of the apartment, all for the sake of smoking. It's ridiculous, really, going through all that trouble just for a little nicotine high. But you've got to do what you've got to do. She said that her name was Ashley. I made this uncannily-not-funny joke about ash trees, and she stared at me awkwardly while I puffed away at my Camel and shuffled my feet. I'm David, I quickly replied. Silence. Her smile was...intoxicating, even more so than the clumps of nicotine I was currently sucking into my lungs. I was in love. You know, most people don't believe in love at first sight, but I do. I do. She reminded me of poetry, of music, and for some strange reason, strawberry jam. I couldn't exactly put my finger on what attracted me to her - she wasn't extraordinarily pretty, and all she'd done was state her name and stare at me. But I was in love. I was in love with just that introduction.

02. LOVE.

My best friend gave up his life for me. Seriously, he literally gave up his life, all for me. It's stupid, I still get emotional about it. I cry all the time when I think about him. I think about when we used to drive around town, blasting the music so loud you could hear us coming from a mile away, how we chased little old ladies through neighborhoods and sped off, laughing like we were deranged. I remember that one time when it was raining, and we parked and got out and danced and played until we were soaked, then we drove up to my ex-boyfriend's work to give him a hard time. I think that was also when we were at that intersection, and we saw this baby spider in your car, and thought it was a scorpion - it looked like one, it really did - and screamed our lungs out. I miss that. I miss the way he held my hand when I was scared or mad, and the way he held me close when I was sad. I miss the one time when he tried doing my makeup, and accidentally put liquid eyeshadow on my lips. Everyone we knew always joked around with the fact that we were so close. Everyone thought that we were going to get married. We might've, actually. Maybe one day, if he hadn't passed away. But he gave up his life for me, and that's all there is to say.

03. LIGHT.

He said his name was Tommy. I hate that name. I hate typical names. When I have children, I will name them something original...like Tykwanika or John John John James John. But, anyway, he struck me as someone very strange, right off the bat. He was all dressed in black, skin like old paper - a sickly color. "Don't you ever get any sunlight?" I asked him. He didn't say a word. I punched him, lightly, on his upper arm, and he didn't budge an inch. Frankly, I almost thought he was dead, except for his chest rising and lifting, and his eyes blinking, staring straight at me. He wasn't angry. He wasn't sad. Hell, he wasn't really anything except...just there. Just being. It was terrifying. I ignored him the rest of the week, and he drifted out of my life like a leaf blown in the wind. The last time I heard about him, he'd apparently gotten hooked on cocaine and bit the head off a parakeet. Maybe I shouldn't have punched him.

04. DARK.

Sometimes when it's so still and quiet, and in the early morning hours, I like to open my garage door, roll my piano a bit down the driveway, and play in the dark. It's soothing. I cannot see the keys, but I can still feel them beneath my fingertips, cold and hard. The night is not scary to me anymore, because I am focusing on the music instead of the boogeymen watching me from behind the trees. I've always been afraid of the dark. I know that there's nothing out there to get me, but any time that I'm standing out there, I always get this mental image of something stupid chasing after me. Like...Chucky, for instance. Then I have to run as fast as I can towards the door, my heart pounding, to slide the door open and shut as quickly as possible, and I feel like I am only safe once I am in my room, where the evil things can't see me. Does that make me crazy? Perhaps I am, in a way.

05. SEEKING SOLACE.

I carry your heart; I carry it in my heart. I am so far from you, so distant. I can feel my arms long for yours. At times I even stretch them out into the air, and close my eyes and invision myself running towards you. I smell the scent of your skin, that warm, powdery smell. It's so comforting. I have dreams about trying to find your face in a crowded room. Sometimes I wish I could reenact that scene, from that one movie. The blind girl holds out her hand in the midst of people running about in a panic, and the one she loves goes to find her, grabs her hand, and pulls her to safety. It makes me smile. So then I just sit and write those scenes down, inserting you and I into the position of the fantastical characters, where we can live out my little dream-world. I know it will always end out the way I want it to in the end. Not so when I open my eyes and see that, in fact, I don't love you.

hey adelaide - no prizes i guess? no deadline? :c
[in fact, did you read the challenges guide? haha, just wondering]

anyway, a question concerning the challenge itself -
do we have to do them in order?

No, you don't have to do them in order. : ]
Shyeah, I know. I'm working on it.
And yeah, I read the guidlines. I'm just lazy. <3

this has to be the greatest idea since peanut butter.

you just gave me like supercalifuckingfragilitic inspiration.

i intend to do this, mainly compiled of pieces of art though, and it may take a while.
but it sure seems fun as hell.

lawl.
that was me.
i was an idiot and forgot to log in.

i'm totally doing this. (: i'm guessing i can take pictures of everything for it, so... i'll be needing a camera. -steals dad's- whoohoo!

i'll take it.

i'll do the challlenge,
it'll mostly be writing though.

ohwellz.
-gets started-

Introduction.

Introduction.
It's a funny word really, and even as a kid he couldn't believe that people didn't introduce themselves to the world. No one ever said, 'hello, my name is Chris, I'm excited to be alive right now. I can't wait to meet you world. And I don't ever want to leave you!' He would practice that every night, a little boy grinning widely to the room, he voice squeaked with a mix of nervousness and excitement.
But at the age of six he was diagnosed with skin cancer.
He couldn't practice, but that was all he really wanted. To go to the park, the largest place he knew and introduce himself to the world.
Chris died a year later.
Lack of response to his treatment.
He never did introduce himself to the world.
Nor did he say goodbye.

Love.

My lustrous brown eyes look down at a male, an older version of me, his eyes shut peacefully and long eyelashes curled innocently. His long dark hair was pulled in a ponytail and bangs brushed to the sides. My small hands linger over his pale skin, the tip of my fingers gently caressing my brother's insipid arm.

My lips curled, "Nii-san." My voice came in an innocent whisper, and soon enough open eyelids revealed blood red eyes of the mangekyou sharingan. He gazed at me for a minute, his gaze was not of irritation nor anger --; but of understanding,

"Yes, Sasuke-chan?" He asked, his voice remained impassive and as did hid face. And despite that fact that it was three in the morning he was no less disturbed.

I find myself crawling into bed beside him, I push my head to meet his heartbeat and my arms encompassed his waist. I could hear the repetitive thump of his chest and his body heat leaves a warm feeling in my stomach.

"I love you Itachi, and I don't ever want you to leave me!" My small voice was filled with a childish passion, but my nails dig into my brother's waist and I find myself pressing harder into his chest.

He chuckles.
That was the first time he ever chuckled.
And that would be the last time too.

"I love you too, now go to sleep." His voice was drowsy, but it did still mean something to me.

Light.

The world has no light.
The light to guide us has burned out.

Our world has been filled with darkness, the sins and evils that has not been brought up to surface. The cowardice the world has been brought to, to where the point even the horrid things 'aren't that bad.'

It's too bad really, I couldn't help the world.
I looked down at it, large, as big as one of those fancy play-houses.
I looked at the people, speculating the drug abuse, the senseless sex.
It didn't amuse me anymore.
I shouldn't have thought of the idea of putting drugs in my little play house.
Or thought of creating little whores.
I took the world and let it fall to the floor, the sound of crashing soothed me.
Good-bye world.
The world with out light.
Well, i could always build a new one.

Dark.

The world around me.
Has so many fears.
So much sloth, no realization of the world.
It leers them really.

To have the thought that the dark would scare you.
When all it really does is bring peace.
It eases that mind and let ones-self share there thoughts.
Share there dreams.

So what is there to fear?
The darkness is sheer grace from the world.
Think of it that way.

Seeking Solace.

sol·ace /ˈsɒlɪs/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[sol-is] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation noun, verb, -aced, -ac·ing.
–noun Also called sol·ace·ment.
1. comfort in sorrow, misfortune, or trouble; alleviation of distress or discomfort.
2. something that gives comfort, consolation, or relief: The minister's visit was the dying man's only solace.
–verb (used with object)
3. to comfort, console, or cheer (a person, oneself, the heart, etc.).
4. to alleviate or relieve (sorrow, distress, etc.).

Her eyes scanned the definition once, then twice, the ten times, then thirty times ....

Her eyes were bloodshot now, her room had secrets confided to. The girl that owned the room told it many stories of sorry. The human flung in sudden rage, her craving for solace took the phrase to another level. The room noticed that she was dependant and almost always needed to be soothed.
She was not mentally retarded.
Nor did she have anger management problems.
She was suicidal.

The room knew this, she thought the ways of dying, planned them out. Told the room that she wanted to die pleasantly and precise to her estimates.

The room was worried.
It didn't want her to die.
But she asked the room for solace.
The room wanted to give her solace,
But couldn't.
It was only a room and had no way of showing it.
Eventually she killed herself.
In the room, hanging from ceiling.
Maybe that was the only girl's solace.
To die in peace.
Away from the unforgiving room.

All she sought was solace.

I have always wanted to do one of these! Yesss. I'm all over it.

Do we get the prize as soon as we finish? (I'm prone to churning things out all at once when motivated properly.)

Yes ma'am!
The prize is delivered as soon as you finish.

Introduction

The lights are turned down low in the restaurant. There's some sort of jazz music playing, where the saxophone cries and cries and the piano mourns what it has lost. There's the usual barflies clustering around martinis and house specials, watching whatever sports game is on as they pick at appetizers. It's too early for them to be drunk and rowdy, or even friendly, so most are quiet as they mull over their long day and their long lives and twist pieces of long hair around long fingers.

There's a man sitting in one of the booths in the back. He finds the dim light irritating; it does nothing for the atmosphere and he can barely see where he's walking. He's flipping through the drink menu absentmindedly, not because he intends to indulge in alcohol but because it makes him look busy and it gets the waitress to leave him alone.

Finally the man he's waiting for comes over -- comes over with the girl, and his friend was right: she's beautiful and thin and brings all the mystery of the Orient with her. Her eyes are almond-shaped and cast downwards, and she's smiling.

He stands automatically. His friend is saying, "Jared, this is Sakura," and she seems flustered, eyelashes fluttering. He holds out his hand and says, "Allow me to introduce myself."

Keeping A Secret

There's an envelope sitting on the darkwood desk. It's old paper, the creamy, thick paper that can handle wet ink and hard writing. It seems completely out of place in the modern room -- just behind the envelope there is a flat-screen computer, large, menacing speakers on each side of its thin face. There's a stereo on another side of the room, part of the home entertainment center with the high-definition television, and that, too, is off. Except for the humming of the computer tower, it's quiet.

It's late at night, and everyone in the house is sleeping. But now she's woken, tired and hungry even though slumber should cure exhaustion and she ate just before she was tucked in. But eight-year-olds don't necessarily follow all the rules of logic set in place by parents, and she was no exception, sitting up in the dark and rubbing her eyes and yawning. She just wanted a snack. What harm would it do to anyone if she grabbed some cookies and milk after brushing her teeth?

But it was so quiet in the dark that she heard the hum of the computer, and she wandered into the study. "Daddy?" The solitary word had an echo in the empty space. "Daddy?" She flicked on the light. No Daddy. But there was the envelope.

Somehow, she knew that it wasn't for her. Somehow, she knew that it was bad. It was meant for someone else and it was /wrong/, and it was /wrong/ to read it. There was something funny holding it shut -- something like the stuff candles were made of, though the word eluded her. She picked at it with her short nail until the envelope opened.

There were several pieces of paper inside. The first one only had one large line of text, but it took her time to read the fancy writing? In bold calligraphy, it inquired, "Can you keep a secret?"

Two Roads

There had been two roads in front of him, two ways that he could go
One was steepy and rocky, the other smooth and low
He'd pondered long and hard over which path he might take
For his dreams and ambitions his choice could make or break
Finally he chose the hard path, not knowing where it would lead
Every ounce of patience he soon learned he would need
Trials and tribulations, pain, losses, and anxiety,
He pushed on, steadfast, weeping, 'Why me?'
And when he came to the end of the road, he thought that he might die,
Everything he'd been told of the two roads -- all had been a lie.

Because the two roads, which had curved around different bends,
Inevitably, persistently, mockingly, lead to the exact same end.

Tower

It had been a long, hard fight to the tower. The dungeon had been the most challenging he'd ever faced; just when he thought that the skeletons were merely skeletons, they would come alive to do battle, and would not lie still until he reduced them to dust. Goblins, ogres, rabid wolves, vampire bats -- the young hero had seen it all.

He'd been reduced from princely glory over the course of the agonizing week. His armor was dented and stained with blood, and his sword looked rusty from the infinite fiends he'd plunged it into. His hair and body were unwashed, the former greasy and the latter sweating, but his trials, thank God, had not taken the brilliant light from his eyes. So bright, so blue! Sometimes, in fleeting moments of vanity, he'd look into his eyes and remember the sky that he hadn't seen in so long.

The steps of the tower were, apparently, the final challenge -- around and around they went, up and up, and frequently he would sit down to rest. When he'd first reached the tower, the hero thought he would charge up the stairs, taking them in leaps and bounds, but already a whole day had passed and he was not at the top. But today was the day!

And indeed it was, though he was breathing hard and fast when he pushed the wooden door open. Immediately the most pungent odor filled his nostrils; if the hero had eaten anything for breakfast, he would have retched it upon the floor. The entire room was covered in cobwebs, and the noxious scent was emanating from a corpse on the bed. The hands were wrinkled and rotting, the eyes having been pecked out by crows that had fluttered through the single open window. There was very little meat left, and the bones looked brittle. The hero could scarcely believe it; his eyes were half watering due to fury.

It had been a hard fight, it seemed, to a tower without a guarantee.

Can You Hear Me?


Can you hear me calling out?
I promise you I'm not far!
I only want to be found.
I only want to be where you are.

Can you hear me calling out?
Keeping follow the sound of my voice!
If you're listening closely then
Right or left? is an easy choice.

Oh wait! Aren't you listening?
You're going the wrong way!
I thought my instructions were so clear,
I thought they were as clear as day.

Apparently you weren't listening!
Apparently you can't hear
The words of the one who loves you most.
Oh, what tragedy, my dear.

Sorrow


There's not much sorrow in missing
Anything my dear, but more pain
Is found in missing what you
Just don't miss anymore. Think
Then, of how you lost and
What you will lose again one
Day. But don't all people
Lose these things? You
Haven't been cheated out
Of anything unique. But
This feeling of emptiness that
Succeeds it -- that is
Yours, and will forever be. No
One will miss that loss as much as
You.



Drive


She ran out of the house with tears in her eyes, her wavy red hair streaming behind her like a war banner. The almost stumbled across the grass in her hopeless state of woe, hands thrown up to hide her face. A tall man followed her to the door, the warm light that comfortable homes possess streaming around his figure, blocking out his finer features and reducing him to a shout sihoulette. The girl said nothing as she ran across her lawn; her loud sobbing was reply enough to whatever barbs he was throwing.

She stumbled over to the car parked near the curb, fumbling with the door before collapsing in the passengers seat. Her hands self-consciously began to mop up her dripping mascara and leaking eyeliner. She sniffled constantly, swallowing tears. The boy in the driver's seat said, "Bianca, do you want to --" 'talk about it?', he was going to ask, but he never finished the sentence.

The girl looked over to him and snapped, "Just drive."



Breathe Again


The beep of the life support machine was steady, monotonous, heartbreaking. Her son's chest rose and fell, rose and fell, and his heart was still beating, but for all the world he wasn't there at all.

He'd been like this for almost a year now -- it seemed like longer, but a year was such a long time. It was a long time to go without hearing someone's voice, without seeing them smile, without worrying about them. True, she didn't have to worry about what he would do with his friends if he went out, or if he'd be home on time, or if he'd get addicted to smoking or try drugs or meet the wron girl or anything like that. No, she didn't need to worry, and she wished she did.

Every day she'd go to work, and every night she'd visit, asking the doctors if there was any news, any improvement, begging the nurses for some sign of hope. But every day, nothing. They seemed to feel sorry for her the first two months, but now there was a perpetual dismissal, a way of implying, 'You should just give up now.' But she didn't. She couldn't.

She'd started reading a lot more since the accident. She would sit in one of the hard chairs and sink into novels, polishing off chapter after chapter before she kissed her boy good night. Sometimes, she would read parts aloud -- little paragraphs or quotes that amused or angered her, and she'd talk to her little boy, who used to be such a good listener. Oh, her baby. Her poor baby.

She had been reading aloud one night, very late -- it was a Friday, and she always stayed a little later on those days. She was reading about how the woman wanted to see her true love again, and her boy had -- he had coughed. He had coughed, and moved, and when she heard the sound, she looked up. His eyes were fluttering.

And in that moment all she could think is how maybe, maybe, her boy would breathe again.



Memory


The lunch tray clattered awkwardly as it his the floor, rocking back forth in 'taptaptap' motions before going very still. A few people looked over to see what the commotion was, taking in the spilled milk, the fries that had jumped all over the tile, and the fruit cup that lay upended on its side. Its owner was clutching one of the three metal bars that served as a support for the trays; students would slide down the buffet and pick what they wanted, paying at the end. So, the watchers noted, not only was this person a klutz, but they were potentially holding up the line.

The girl was very still, though the hand that hung by her side was shaking. She took a quick, deep huff of a breath, and exhaled, "What are you doing here?"

The boy had his hands in his pockets, and he was smiling. He didn't seem the least bit perturbed. In a tone so sardonic it was infuriating, he drawled, "I'm pleased to see you remember me."

Break Away.
She smirks as the gaurd leaves the cell, bright yellow eyes search the cell. It is small and undesirably cold, the young woman shivers but her cocky smirk remains. Her feelings are mixed as her eyes begin to water and her eyebrows twitch, long strands of black hair obscuring her face.

She yells.
She screams.
She thrashes around the room, shoving her body into the walls and letting blood soak her arms that have been shackled.
"Tonight, I WILL BREAK AWAY FROM YOU BASTARDS!" She screams, letting anyone that ventures too close hear.
She decides that the future will be a dim one, the is being controlled and she's in a cage with nothing to do about.
She dies soon after.
Shot down in attempt to escape ...

Heaven.
Heaven is an empty place. I know this because I am in heaven as we speak. Heaven has become a lonely and solemn place, it is a white room with a chair and a small window with bars going across.
When I was little I believed that Heaven would be a wonderful place with the simple pleasures of getting there. Everyone I knew that has passed would be there and I would be young again and beautiful and every miraculous thread of hope will fill my deads.
I was so wrong.
So fucking wrong.
You just sit there, let yourself waste away into whatever was afterlife.
Little did I know that this was not heaven but actually hell.

Innocence.
I lost my innocence.
My oblivous ignorance that was found to be bliss.
It is all gone now, for I have seen sin.
My young eyes are tainted.
And my heart of gold is nothing more than tin.
Oh how I yearn for longly
Of my sweet honey suckle bread!
But now that is not my only desire.
I have a craving.
I envy the enviable.
And I have lusted the lust.
Now, as I sit here.
Nothing else to do but waste away.
Do I wish for my innocence.
And my honeysuckle bread.
That long ago, in a far away place
That to be my only desire.
That I craved.

Drive.
I find myself waltzing out the door of my apartment, my eyes cascading down on a run down car. My fingers trail upon the hood of the car feebly and my small blue eyes gaze at the car softly.

So many memories.
I want to drive.

I find myself upon the door slowly, stumbling into a dusty, leather seat. I just sit there for a moment, my eyes half lidded in memories of this car. Memories that held my life in. My smile grows faint and I inhale deeply.

So many memories.
I want to drive.

Soon i finding myself steering the car with one hand, my head cocked to the side and the engine puttering and spewing, roaring with life as I begin to catch up speed.

The beating of my heart grows louder against my chest, I begin to laugh. Sad and hysterical laughs.

So many memories.
I want to drive.

Soon the car is twisting and turning up high on a mountain street. My eyes peer off the steep ledge, the steep fall. Tears fill my eyes, is this really how I'm going to end this?

So many memories.
So many horrible memories.
I want to drive.

I decide to do it, letting the car catch up with incredible speed. I need to turn, but I won't. I let the car race off the ledge of the mountain, my heart thumping like crazy and I begin to scream.

"NO, I DON'T WANT TO DIE YET!---" I scream as the car falls down fifty feet. My voice is cut off, the car crashes into the rock and there is nothing but gory remains of a young woman.

All she wanted to do was drive.

Breathe Again.
He wants to breathe again, he is in a filled tank, his skin as fragile as that of a baby's and his breaths breathed through a tube of fake air. He knows he is watched apon, gawked at and examined.

He feels naked in front of so many white aproned men, with clipboards and machines that they tap on relentlessly.
This poor boy has spent his life in this container, he has grown numb from the warm water that pressed down on every inch of bare flesh.
He can not open his eyes anymore for he has no reason to, they don't him all they need is his body.

All he wants is to breathe again, to feel the different textures of touch against his skin. To smell the smell of anything sweet, of anything at all. All he wanted was to be alive, not in a container unable to move, to do anything.
Just to be watched upon.

All he wanted to do was breathe again.
The air of real air.
And not of this fake air he is supplied.
Thid boy wants to breathe again.