I’m At The End Of My Rope

I simply can’t take it any longer. Every time I try to walk a few steps away from Mom to taste some funny-looking bug, I’m yanked away by something bigger than me. So much of my very short life hasn’t even been my own — I’ve been subject to the fickle whims of some omnipotent being that I can’t ever know or see. I’m telling you guys, I just can’t go on like this anymore. I’m at the end of my rope here.

It’s like there’s some invisible force holding me back. I don’t get it — the other four-year-olds run so free and uninhibited, a whole world of mud-eating and arm-breaking available to them. But for me, well, the options are limited and the outlook is always bleak. Let’s just say that I’m kept on a tight leash.

There has to be something beyond these bounds, right? But I’ve never known any other possibilities. Day after day, I feel my condition weakening, my muscles deteriorating, God’s grip tightening around my throat — but I just can’t seem to reverse direction.

I’m serious, guys, this is the last straw. This is the end of the line for me. I’ve got my hands tied, figuratively speaking. All I want to do is be able to run and grab onto some strangers’ legs, or dash suddenly into the middle of the street. But no, I’m forever stuck walking between Dad’s feet or at Mom’s heel. I’m on my absolute last leg here, people.

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