Work Text:
Looking at the blackboard, the chalk dust having long settled, the words remained. The straight lines had been wiped out and redrawn as squiggly lines in an attempt to correct the students’ trees. The words beneath's order had of course not been changed. What instead had been convulsing as it grew and metamorphosed was their understanding of the horror beneath the sentences. The ridgid system that should have been so apparent when they initially had learned to juggle with meaning and words. This force had been lying in waiting, trying to find a time to strike.
The revelation that even in the private of his own thoughts the wordly traditions of the world would be coming for him, was unnerving. His parents and the world around him had made the decision for him, he would be a part of the colony of his languages, the roads and infrastructure had long since been built. Patterns had been comprehensible and controllable back when it had been things like when you add one button to two other buttons you now had three buttons. It was worse when you looked at the four holes in each button adding up to eight and then to twelve through the same motions, that was all fine. It got worse and worse the older he had gotten. The patterns in history and the social sciences made sense, but made him feel like an ant in the colony. The community felt safe and he had no doubt that it would be there for him if he were to fall. He was left feeling like a ghost who had never lived. He was birthed and carefully molded by the community, a creature of experiences from outside his own body.