Thoreau's Sacrifice

I have felt the sunrise. Rays of light refract through shadows of bare soldiers frozen mid battle. The murmurs of life silently pause to admire the sun's song. Nighttime slithers away, leaving the coldest moments of the day to juxtapose the warm hues dancing on the horizon. These actions begin each day, yet I cannot imagine another human ever feeling the light approach as I have. It is easy to see how Thoreau was encapsulated by the simple mystique of the wilderness. Nevertheless, I sit motionless in a tree, a sleeping monster in my arms, waiting to tear through the soft spoken forest surrounding me. I am not saddened by the idea of disturbing the sanctuary because the thoughts filling the silence enshrouding me are instead

However, my father is more optimistic, he leaves to check for a blood trail. I begin to weep, to dissolve into painful shutters, to frantically remorse, I did not want to shoot; but a bullet escaped through expectation and fear of failure. My own desires were desperately suppressed. Although I intentionally shifted the mouth of the gun at the final second apprehension to ridicule denies me true disclosure. Moreover, the embarrassment I felt for missing was devastatingly degrading. I begged him not to tell of my misfire, wrath of disappointment overpowering

The next day a dull ache pulsated from the sun and a decision was made that changed my life. It is an enormous pleasure to expunge the weight of a destiny designed by expectation. My life was a stencil I was required to trace. For years I waded through facades of freedom mimicking suggested ideals and working hard to never fail at the prophecies placed upon me. My mind was simplified by barriers constructed by everyone I tried to please; as much as life felt dull and unfulfilling I lacked ability to doubt its integrity. A racehorse with blinders, I was barreling towards the finish unable to see the free abyss parallel to me. The serenity of that winter day gave ample space for tendrils of inner reasoning to wind through my mind, cognitive dissonance gave way to a flood of power that ignored the confines of societal perfection. Discovering I was not perfect planted seeds of homeostasis within me. Pulling the trigger changed me. Reality's controlling confines beckoned my return but freedom sang valiantly around me and some things are more powerful than hypnotized contentment as an incentive. Failure's independence unleashed my voice. I choose to tell the real story of the