• tab Unable to be quinched by such thoughtless behavior as picking up the arm, moving it to the mouth, moving the jawbone up and down a few times and swallowing leisurely, the mind wanders restlessly, bored with the near mindlessness of the common activity of eating. The mind longs to be free of its captor, free to see colors and smell flowers and fell the incredible softness of silk that it only gets images of, vague pictures and feelings that cannot be fully enjoyed. The mind fumed as its captor forces it to watch mindless people spewing pointless jokes out their detached mouths. It wanders how the other minds stand it, being held hostage within the cramped compounds of the inner skull. The only freedom it gets is at night when it can weave the objects it was forced to see, the smells it was forced to smell and the things it was forced to touch, into adventures and stories that it wishes with all its heart to experience. Even with its nightly adventures, the mind is never free, being force to choose from the tiny collection of experiences that its captor throws in for it. Scraps of things, sometimes suitable to ease the thirst for excitement, other times, not enough to even come close, leaving the mind in a dismal shape, bored inactive, ready for anything to do. As the minds is forced yet again to move fingers on an object its heard to be called a mouse, and watch pointless images flash by, flash by like the minutes, the hours it waits for the torture to end. It longs to do something else, anything else, but however is not able to communicate this with its captor.
    tab From time to time a book may be opened and the mind will nearly jump out its prison with unaccustomed joy at the almost unknown world of mystery and magic. But all to soon, the book is closed, the magic dies and the mind is forced to hold onto these memories until the lucky chance that some new ones can be made. Time passes, the mind begins to wilt as books become legends and eating and watching mindless people becomes more and more habitual. Finally, it has been more than 5 years since the smooth paper covered in words and filled with a banquet of the best tasting stories and memories imaginable has crossed into the now grey field of the now almost dead mind. Instead of feeding on adventure and excitement, it settles for news, mindless jokes and information of people it will never meet. the captor has won, it has beat its captive down, so that eve these occasional nuisances at night are demolished and sleep comes without a fuss while the minds waits patiently, twiddling its thumbs like the good mind it knows it should be, and waits for the day to begin. Its not a new day, because the days roll by, every day the same as the one before it. Finally, the mind cracks. It dies from starvation and gives itself up to its captor, waiting to be butchered up, and molded into whatever its master wishes, for truly that is what its captor now is. Imagination is dead.