She is still there, typing.
Hours, days, years, decades…
Time has lost its meaning.
Yet,
She is still there.
Caged in the prison of ambition,
Her own shadow casting an ominous spell on her,
Unable to be released.
The Invisible hand that had once suffocated the young soul,
No longer felt that way with the robotic minds replacing her naive nature.
Work, work, work.
Yet,
Hopelessness and threats seemed to have found her weakest spot,
Inject. Infect. Irritate.
Like a virus.
The sickness augmenting into a prodigious mess inside her.
The toils of day and night numbing her senses,
Her signs of life dissipating from her body as it refuses to cope with her burden,
Slowly turning stiff,
Her fingers tense and sore,
Her face pale like that of snow,
Stress tied her with rusty ropes,
Binding her dream and life.
Her soul suffocated once again,
In a black, gloomy fog.
Her pleasant symphony turned to cacophony.
Yet, still there.
Barely breathing.
Death engulfs her into the black hole of melancholy,
She slowly sinks into the ocean of unconsciousness.
Her eyes gaze into the darkness of her fate and destiny.
She cries for help.
But she was helpless and alone.
With all her fortune gone,
She begins to realize the consequences of her desire for success…
Anxiety. Silence. Terror.
She is awoken from her nightmare,
At last, realizing the meaning of her existence.
She is reborn as an individual with a new purpose in life:
Putting herself first,
Living as a happy and healthy person.
Finally,
She puts on a bright smile.
Leaves the dreadful desk,
And moves onto a new chapter of her life.
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