By ALEX WOMACK
My mind is hyperactive.
My surroundings — a dull classroom, the homework on my desk, the suburban view from a passenger window — remain in my vision, but blur in the theater of my mind. The audience is hungry; they need a better show. The curtain closes, the stage beyond it shifts, and those in their seats wait with bated, impatient breath. From the skylight, the real world shines in, but no one pays attention. They crave stimulation.
The curtains part and the show begins.
I am hiking on a mountain when the sound of a predator – a low moan, fierce and fresh – hits my ears, primal fear developing gooseflesh, a chill down my spine as I press it against a tree. In the midnight darkness, I feel a feral presence with its gaze trained on me. In my heart, I know I have moments to live.
Scene. My friends and I are in a meadow, a flat picnic blanket undisturbed by summer breeze. The sun is warm yet distant, the sky bright but not blinding. I taste blackberry on my tongue. As the person on my left smiles at me, the overwhelming sense of bliss brings tears to my eyes. I have never felt less alone.
Scene. At school, a test is in front of me. I cannot remember what it is I’m doing, what I’m supposed to know, how much time I have left, or what grade I’ll have in the class upon failing this. There is only the desperate struggle of recall as I stare at the question, a set of meaningless scribbles that my dreamscape has not translated into English, and I urge my brain to find a matching set of answers. Soon, the perspiration will make my pencil hard to hold.
I am a ragdoll in center stage. Around me, the scenes constantly switch, my jumbled frame placed in scenario after scenario after scenario. The audience is pleased, but they need more. To consume is to devour in its entirety, to feel a thousand emotions for yourself when the world offers none. I have entered the kaleidoscope, the distorted vision becoming a mosaic crashing to the ground as I stand on it, and as it shatters, every shard of glass punctures my body. I feel everything at once.
Scene. The hollow air whistles from a heavy pounce, and a claw strikes me across the face, blinding me in one eye. I stagger to the side as drops of blood shower the dirt.
Scene. I lean back onto the grass and stare at the heavens, a companion’s chin nestled warmly on my shoulder. The air is soft and sweet, and a sparkling tear runs down the side of my cheek and absorbs into the soil.
Scene. I squeeze my eyes shut, emanating a desperation for inspiration. My knee twitches incessantly, and as I am hit with the horrible certainty that I am distracting my classmates, drops of sweat fall off my palms to hit the tiled floor.
My essence soaks through the earth, through the earth, and onto the stage below. I – the ragdoll – am abused, and I – the audience – respond with thunderous applause. I am cackling, clutching at my throat, cowering in my seat. All of it comes in the pursuit of fulfillment, of satiation; I am chomping on my heart.
Bite by bite, scene by scene, I am sated.
As my monotonous surroundings continue to offer me nothing, I try not to let my face twitch. Who would understand why I cry with a full-faced grin while my hands are balled in rage? I can feel my emotions mounting, filling my body with a paradoxical energy that I cannot hide for much longer. I am approaching my capacity.
Scene; the boy I like is kissing me. Scene; the boy I like is killing me.
I wake up lost in a silent cave; I am interviewed on the news for writing a bestselling book; a stranger pushes me in the path of an oncoming train; I face off, terrified, against a gladiator in the Colosseum; to save the lives of my friends, I am forced to cut off my hands; I rescue a loved one from a fire; on our five year anniversary, my partner proposes to me; at gunpoint, I hand over my wallet and keys; I wake up mid-surgery and witness my pulsating organs; weary and drunk, I decide to play Russian Roulette; I rest peacefully on my couch of ten years ago, not knowing the future in store for me.
The audience is roaring, the stage is creaking, and the theater is on the brink of collapse. My mind has been completely saturated with what has already been played, so much so that it is not capable of playing any further scene. I am stuffed, I am sated. Let the show end.
I return to my body, to the dull scenery that previously so stifled me. Now, however, there is no feeling of lethargy coursing through my veins. The cortisol, dopamine, adrenaline, and serotonin: everything in my system has served to reawaken me. To function, one must eat.
Writer | Alex Womack ’27 | awomack27@amherst.edu
Editor | Camila Massaki Gomes ’27 | cmassakigomes27@amherst.edu