Tranquility

The mind dumbing sounds of the violin will never silence the constant means of a whiney neighbor, an overprotective parent, not even the screaming inside my head. I dream of an escape from this brutal place we call reality. When I'm in my fantasy land, there's true happiness, not the artificial junk they have here. Unfortunately, its just that, a fantasy. Why can't it be real? My mother beckons me to join her ridiculous book clubs and other meetings, but I'd rather read and write my own story. The kids outside might be annoying, but they're quiter than my thoughts. I feel them screaming at me. I can't understand the mumbles of the voices, but they are definitely there. I wonder why they never stop. Sometimes it sounds like a muffled scream, others a quiet voice whispering small stories. I talk to myself because it feels no one else will listen. I try to decide if I should wake up. I might not have a choice. But in my dreams, everyone is free to choose. I talk so much of my dreams, only because it feels I'M living in them. Crazy right? The violins are rapidly getting louder. Why can't they just leave me alone? "Am I trapped in this labyrinth of ones mind?" Something shakes me. The floor is breaking, crumbling. It's falling apart. The whispers continue. It never ends. What's changing? Could it be the fact my mothers screams are keeping me from sleeping? I see now. It was a dream. This fantasy I shortly called home is ending. I'm finally waking up. "Don't be late." The mumbles are clearing. I'm waking up. What once was this trap, this beautiful, amazing, fantasy, was nothing but a dream. Nothing more. My sleep ends, and all this is, is nothing but a faded memory. And look at me, I'm nothing but a person stuck in their own mind, someone stuck as a story jammed in a typewriter.