Captive
She yearned to break free – one day.
To find an escape from the rampart that had held her captive for so long.
That she, herself, had manufactured.
Bricking herself in as the time elapsed.
By now the walls were becoming rather lofty.
Stepping stones that she had implemented along the interior allowed her to climb the tremendous height.
Peaking over the apical, she could observe all that took place outside the bounds of her self-induced prison.
Sometimes she would even sit atop the zenith; gazing, wistfully, upon the world below.
On occasion, someone would approach by happenstance.
Acknowledging her existence, they would converse with her for a while.
Yet soon they would grow weary of it, weary of her.
Unwilling to attempt the laborious climb.
Turning their backs, they would continue about their lives.
Leaving her, once more, in solitude atop her construct.
So back into the bowels she would descend, to begin again.
Mixing the mortar – a recipe all her own.
Concocted from the course granules of pain that rubbed her raw, and the moisture that flowed from her eyes.
The stones she had come to form within herself.
Anxiety and self-loathing – layering themselves one upon the other.
Solidifying under the insurmountable pressure until they became too arduous to bear.
It would be then, that she would expurge them from within herself.
Releasing herself from the immense accumulation that threatened to devastate her humanity.
It was at this juncture, once all had been made ready, that she would yet again commence her upward ascent.
As soon as she reached the apex she would apply the next gradation of mortar and stone.
Ever increasing the elevation of her fortification, knowing well enough that it would someday grow to such altitude that no one would even know she existed at the crest of the monumental structure.
Yet, the futile considerations of deliverance still occupied her quintessence.
Copyright © Abbie Mason | Year Posted 2020
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