"...I hate the word teenager. I don't hate it because it's just a marketing ploy, a way to lump everyone in the ages of 13-19 together, or because its slang. No, I hate the way it sounds. It's harsh and condescending in every syllable to me. I'd rather be known as maturing, an adolescent, someone who has not yet been. I hate the way that the adult who preach that we should all love and respect each other, tell me that they can tell me what to believe because I'm a teenager. Because I'm this 13-19 year old, I must be protected, coddled, and never told the real truth, so that when I leave the life of the cocoon, I can arrive as a molding moth. Butterflies are never born, only sculpted out of the left over adolescent dreams that our real world says will never come true. Adults don't dream, they only have urges that they follow. Procreation, success, youth, and immortality through whatever means necessary are what they follow. I wanted to be a butterfly, who follows dreams. Who flits between reality and fantasy? Who is free, it is but the butterfly, the fairy you cannot see above her. But I too, have been jaded, I too am but a moth. "
"That's nice, Cassandra, but you didn't answer the question. What do you believe about life?"
"There's not much more to be said. No one hears anyway what I say. At least they don't listen. It's a curse."
"That's okay, Cassandra."
I walk through the halls of the tiny alternative school. We're supposed to be freethinkers, this is supposed to be a one of a kind school, and I suppose we're supposed to be different. However, just like the last school, everyone is the same. People pretending, people hating, people loving. Same dynamics as anywhere, the constant hope of the future being placed in hands that for whatever reason, do not want it. The same dying embers of the light flashing through one receptor and out the other end as in each school I've tried. In each place though, there is no one to heed my message. I am the living Cassandra, the prophetess no one listened to. It again stands to me to shout my message.
There is however, a sparkle of hope in this school. A small boy that no one really knew, who wore the red necklace of the tinniest spools. Like the kind you would get in a craft kit. Maybe it's his own message.
"I heard you today." He smiled straight into a message even I didn't preach.
"You heard me what?"
"You're words, the meaning. Disillusionment isn't a good thing ya know."
"Timothy, you have no clue what you're saying."
"You're right, you have become jaded. You don't know the message you said, because you can't believe it anymore. You were a butterfly. You are a moth, just like the rest of us."
Being me, I stormed off into nowhere, and nothingness. I didn't want to admit I was wrong, that the reason no one listened was because I was the very thing I hated. I had become the disillusioned youth that says you cannot dream. I was supposed to be...not this. I had not the ties that I had once loved and cherished. I no longer had the ties that bound me to the message. I had forgotten. I was forgotten because of it. This is not what I am.
So I shall re-examine myself and my message, and return to once was, and always will.
"We are all connected by ties. Ties that bring us to a new destination. Ties that say who we are, and who we will become. The dreams we decide to take are the blood red ties that tell us where to go. We are all looking for someone to tell us that we are on the right thread, or to say what we would become if we took this chance. We are looking for a little spool of red thread to tie us to each other and say, welcome to this world. Love. People forever have been wondering what the meaning of life is. And it's amazing how quickly they pass over the answer. Life is to live and love, and forgive those who cannot."
This is End, but ending is not forever. End is Beginning. Beginning is Forever. Forever is only glimpsed in our dreams. Dreams are held together by a tie of red thread.