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I have a little story inside of me. It’s locked with 7 keys and safely put away. It wants to come out, like the big one did. It scratches and digs at my skin from the inside with its giant claws. It crawls up and down like a metal spider gnawing at me. I can touch it from the outside like a mother can touch her unborn child’s little finger when it pushes it against her belly. Sometimes, when it gets angry, it squeezes my heart into a string and ties it into a nautical knot. It holds my lungs so tightly, they have nowhere to expand to. No wonder I can never catch my breath these days. Not yet satisfied with the damage, it spits into my eyeballs overflowing them with liquid pain. It wants to be set free. I want to let it out. I really do. But I’m not ready yet. I don’t understand why I can’t just keep it to myself.
- “I don’t belong to you. - It says. Let me out”. (Sounds like an order)

These pesky stories tend to be wild by nature.
I had to clip its wings. They grew back. Sometimes they flutter and tickle my tummy. It’s a pleasant sensation. It makes me want to fly.
One night as I slept soundly, it made its way into my brain and woke me up in the middle of a dream. Who does that? Unruly child that it is, it sat on my ear drum and… IT. JUST. WOULDN’T. SHUT. UUUUP!
It can’t seem to understand that all I want is to protect it from the outside world and its harsh criticism.
- “I want what’s best for you. Promise.” I said.
-“I’m not alone in here. You do know there’s others. Right? There’ll be mayhem if you don’t let us all out soon.”
- “Fine.- I said defeated and exhausted. Form a line. You go first. I should warn you there’s no coming back in once you’re out. So you’re in your own. But wait… I still don’t know your name.”