A Comfortable Penitentiary

She sits, head propped against the wall, staring blankly at the screen. Thoughts unrelated to what she sees in front of her runs through her head, the monster of sleep-deprivation helping her case none whatsoever. She wonders, aloud at times, why she can’t have what everyone else has. Rather, she does, but it’s restricted from her access, minus approval from the guardians after countless times of nagging, achieved not through understanding of her need, but after unbearable annoyance. She supposedly abuses her privileges; privileges to her, common and everyday to everyone else. She can’t focus, her own monitor is collecting dust from two floors up, and, for all she cares, Jefferson could go play under Sally Hemings’s apron again.

I can’t wait for school to start, so that she might have some freedom back.