I have reached the top, I think I have reached the top. There are none who can stop me now, I do all that I desire, I have carried out exactly what I first set out to do. But why, why do I feel there is more to do? I felt it once, a weirdness along my neck, like someone dragging wet cold fingers along my nape and down my spine. A feeling I felt long long ago when I was weak and helpless, at the mercy of those much stronger. A feeling I never thought to feel again, yet here it is.
With the feeling returning every day, it lasts longer and longer. I feel like a bug that has a looming creature above it deciding whether to crush it or let it go. Unseen it remains but it watches I know. I start to take measures to find the source of this feeling or to avoid it but I come up with nothing. I alone have this feeling and those I ask regard me with scepticism. Returning to my old school I wander through the empty pathways and rubble of classrooms before coming to my old courtyard. Maybe this will help me regain the former sharpness that I had back then, the days in which I lived in weakness and strived with such desperation to gain strength to reach my goals.
The old willow stretches further, its fingers reaching the ground and hiding all within its boughs. The table and chairs left outside on the deck showing more weathering, nearly hiding the scratches I left during moments of frustration. Finding the centre of the courtyard and seating myself on the ground I begin to spread my sense of self outwards.
Like the wind I felt myself encompass the surrounding area seeking any possible source of the feeling. Yet nothing, the emptiness of the school sent back to me, the sad familiar places abandoned and in disrepair. I sent my will through every room, delved into every shadow and encompassed every crack but the feeling never left.
Unable to find anything I started to contemplate more on what the feeling was sending me. A icy cold tingle, a slippery and slick feeling like a errant drop of water, one that has only gotten stronger. From the single barely felt drop to a shocking slap in the face cold it has pressed further upon me. Always pressing upon me. Slowly my eyes creep up, the vast night sky stretches above with a cacophony of stars surrounding the yellowed moon. But the feeling of pressing is still there. Trying to send my sight past the light of the stars and moons I desire to see beyond the veil of black.
Endless eyes, uncaring as they gaze down at me and all around, eyes that only I seem to see. Cold and dismissive, from up high I can see them, seeming to not even hold me in any regard. Why, why am I being stared at from such a lowly position, why am I in this lowly position. This cannot be. I spent so much time to reach beyond all others, to dominate all those who would dominate me. Yet the eyes still stare, all I have done, all that I have strived for meaningless to them. Only a worm writhing on te ground.
