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A Story by Breach

'How does a parallel line, take a bend?'

Circles. His life was a circle, how could it be anything more? He began his journey every morning, just to end at the very start. 'The box' people called it, the inescapable box of being, work to live, live to work - and without one, an end to it all. His schedule was clear, five minutes of sleep past hitting the snooze button, burning himself in the shower, cold tea and the wrong radio channel playing on his commute. He'd done it for so long, with countless others, was this what God made us for? He had lacking belief of a creator in the sky, a creator would not sit idle in the face of evil, in the face of the purest suffering. He could not convince himself of it though, the churches, the mosques, the temples had him with regular visits, he knew hope in faith was all that kept him going.

He did think of reality as he walked to the station, the same echoes, the same sounds of each passing day. He knew where the cold breeze would hit him, and where the cracks in the street would throw him that bit off balance. He knew what song the restaurant would reach on its playlist, and he knew that bus would be late. His daily travel involved too much, the walk through the outskirts, the bus ride to the station, the subway to the canal, and the shaky boat for good measure. He thought he should appreciate it, the sights, the smells, but he couldn't. He couldn't till he was free. 'How does one free themselves from a circle?' he thought to himself before bed, 'the same way the straight lines bend', always replied the splits in the ceiling above.

Does wealth give you freedom? No. Does power give you freedom? ..No. What is freedom but a dream? A shared fantasy. He realized how powerless he was, a drop against a tide. A strong plant surviving the winter snow, dying in the summer heat. He remembered the garden snake he grew up with, it had chosen a particular mouse as it prey. It remained days in place, waiting, it remained weeks in place, waiting, and when finally the victorious mouse came out, it lunged, and in the rushing and happiness of seeming success, it choked. Overwhelmed by anything, only failure remains in wait. Did he want to break off the circle? Did he want to leave the parallel lines? Yes, but in turn, and without suffocation.

He did not understand his instincts. He did not understand his callings. He did not understand the difference between fate, and destiny. Did his heart throb for change, or did it throb for acceptance of what is. He saw the answer in his fears, absolution. He looked for peace, a moment of eternal perfection, a moment of contentment and acceptance, a moment of life that would remain forever in the deepest valley of his limitlessly large soul - and he found it. He could smell the tension in the air above it, he could feel the dirt around the rubble beneath it. he could taste blood in his mouth. He stepped forward that day, onto the tracks. He agreed, overwhelming escapes brought failure, but what failure is past death? However, he did not die. He had merely stepped onto the path, the bridge of string with the hell of return to life beneath, and around. He walked till he could hear different, the sound of life rushing at you at 125mph. He turned and walked into the pathway up. He had left the circle.

The truth dawned. There was no circle. There was no schedule. There were no boundaries to be crossed, but those he made for himself. Once he shot the unloaded gun straight through his mind, he was as free as could be. He walked up the stairs, and out what he knew. The pathway led him up to his street, but he saw it different. He saw the struggles of the roses rising through the cracks in the sidewalk. He saw the wind fighting to blow true. He saw that his journey to escape from the circle, had brought him back to the very start.