Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning.

I’m allowed to say that, aren't I? I’m allowed to say something like that, allowed to say something without the precision of language.

Of course not. I’m not allowed to exaggerate. I’m not drowning; I’m perfectly fine. I’m not even near something that could cause me to drown. I’m in my room, safely tucked beneath my blanket. The ceiling above me is dark, oddly comforting, and my eyes stare blankly at it. That’s why precision of language is important; you must mean what you say to avoid causing unnecessary panic or embarrassment.

So, there’s not any drowning here. None at all.

But yet, the feeling won’t go away. I feel like I’m deep beneath the water’s surface. I feel like I can’t breathe, like I can’t muster the strength to break through. Like I’m sinking, further and further, until eventually I’ll fall to the bottom.

It’s weird, isn’t it?

I know it is. I know I’m not supposed to have thoughts like this. I must not have feelings. I must not be rude or imaginative or vibrant. I must be blank. I must not be an individual. And let’s not forget precision of language. I must have that too. All the time, with every word or sentence that leaves my mouth. Heck, my breaths might as well be precise.

Just as they want them to be.

But I don’t want that. They…they are the ones drowning me. They’re like weights tied around my ankles, weights that are dragging me further down into the water’s depths, further down into insanity. They’re driving me crazy.

“No they’re not,” the good citizen in me whispers. “They’re not driving you crazy. You’re fine, just fine. It’s a dream, it’s all a dream. You’re not feeling anything…it’s just the Stirrings. You’ve been taking your pill, haven’t you? Good, keep taking it. Follow their rules…follow the rules and you’ll be fine…”

I want to shout. I just…I just want to scream. Scream at that stupid voice in my head. Scream at my rebellious side, the side that wants to ruin everything. Scream at the Community, with their perfect rules and perfect people.

I can’t. Oh, I know I can’t. That would be very impolite, now wouldn't it? We don’t scream here. We talk at a respectable level each moment. We don’t feel intense anger here. Oh, no. We’re all happy here. The Community is perfect. The Community can do no wrong.

Take, for example, the lack of color. If someone were to take a good look around, they wouldn't see anything but varying shades of grey. That would be all they’re supposed to see. But I guess you can say that I’m a special case.

I see things for what they are. The sky is blue and the grass is green. The roads are black and the walls are white. That river is blue, darker than the sky, and the bridge over it is brown.

No one else can see that but me. For someone who’s been forced to see gray for so long, this should be a gift. I should be overjoyed, bursting at the seams with “happiness”. But I wasn't. No, I felt disgusted. I have failed my Community. I have become different. An individual.

Something marked as…disposable.

Oh, yeah. I guess I forgot to mention something great about this Community. Namely a lovely thing called release.

It sounds all nice and sweet, doesn’t it? Filled with flowers and brightness, smiles and laughter like the tinkling of little, tiny bells.

Oh, it’s not. It’s disgusting, putrid and vile. There are needles, you know. Needles with a fluid that takes only seconds to kill someone.
Were you not expecting that? To know that release was just another way to say pure, unjustified murder? That’s all it comes down to. When you no longer serve a purpose, you die. They stab you with chemicals and watch you, batting their eyelashes and giving you a false sense of security. I bet they whisper nice things. I bet they try to make you believe that release is a good thing as the pain takes over your body.

They’re sick like that.

We have climate control here. It’s never too cold, and never too hot. You can’t die from frostbite or heatstroke. The sky is always nice and clear, and it never rains or snows or anything. And honestly…I hate that.

I want to feel rain. I want to feel raindrops hitting my skin. I want to dance to an invisible song (another thing we’re not allowed to have…music), carefree and happy.
Not the Community’s definition of happy. The real definition of happy. The happiness you feel at a friend’s birthday, a wedding, or seeing your grandparents…things I’ll never experience. Just like I’ll never feel truly angry or sad or irritated. The Stirring pills prevent those. I have to take those every day, you know. Every day until I get released…but I stopped. It’s only a matter of time before they find out I have.

It’s sickening. Everything here is so sickening, and to know that I’m a part of this Community makes me want to vomit. I’m a citizen here. I reside here, in my nice, “perfect” dwelling. I can’t ever leave, because they don’t want me to.

I won’t listen, though. I can’t stay here any longer. I can’t keep suffocating myself. If I don’t leave right now, I really will go crazy. And that’s not an exaggeration.

I don’t have a choice, though. None of us do. We live a life without choice, without a thought process of our own. But I know there’s a world out there…somewhere, there’s got to be what I’m looking for. Somewhere out there, I’ll find what normal is.

Somehow…I’ll stop myself from drowning.