The Maze Runner
- Davina Bruno Adcock
- Jan 8
- 1 min read
Updated: Jan 26
The clock is going,
and I'm struggling to breathe
in the space between each tick.
There's a prize at the end.
I don't know what it is,
But I was told I'm supposed to want it more than anything.
It's supposed to fulfill me in ways untold.
But for now, I have to get through this maze.
The hedges are thick braids of thorns, feet deep.
The ground doesn't echo,
like a void I can't make sense of.
It's pitch black.
And the rain has begun to fall.
I have less time with each deafening tick of the clock.
But how much time do I actually have left?
I don't know. I just know I'm figuring out the turns and loops the hard way.
Within minutes, my own blood is splattered across my clothes.
My face is beaded with sweat.
And all I know so far is that every time I speak up for myself,
I hit a wall, hard.
Every time I advocate for a better process,
I trip.
Every time I'm confident, thoughtful, or kind,
it doesn't open up a path.
But I'm blocked by thicker and thicker walls of thorns.
I'm soaked, with the weight of confusion pressing me in worse than the maze.
I thought when I followed the rules,
the lights would snap on,
And that my goodwill would dry up the rain.
But I'm now trapped in a maze,
Filled with unspeakable folly and unseen terrors.
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