The World Between the Oldest and Youngest

There at the top are the oldest. Down there are the Youngest. I am the youngest of my family, and as I watched my brother and sister enter adulthood, I don’t feel like I belong to being the last child. The youngest child in a family is usually seen as being a 5-10 year old. They always seem to be younger. I Have friends who are the only child or are either the oldest or middle child. I have seen things that my brother and sister saw when they were older. I have gotten things that my brother and sister only got later. I have heard things when my parents told my brother and sister had to hear it. Sometimes I regret it, other times I’m happy. People would say that I was mature for my age. That I was observant. They considered that as the reason why I was more mature. That’s partially true. I learned what to avoid to not get in trouble and I saw what I needed to do to get rewards. Maybe parents learn after that they don’t have to be overly protective of their children after dealing with the oldest. I learned skills at a younger age, and got to do a lot more things as well. Maybe that’s why they think that the youngest child is spoiled, and sometimes it is. I don’t mind being the youngest, but I don’t feel like it.

Curiosity

I was a fairly curious kid. This may have gotten me into trouble more than once, or caused me to make a bad decision. I have two siblings that were both older than me and as the youngest, I was curious about what they were doing. We had a bunk bed back then, and my brother and sister would sit up there to get away from me. I would climb the ladder and they would send me back down. I was always curious about what they did, and I was observant. One day they had decided to remove the ladder and climb up the side of the bunk bed. Was it safe to do that? No, but they still did it because they didn’t want to be bothered by me. I had watched them climb up the side, and I thought that I could do that too. I could, but they called in mom before I could reach the top. As said before, it wasn’t safe to climb the side, so I was taken off of the side of the bunk bed and had to stop bothering my siblings. But they had to put the ladder back in the end.

More Than One

There’s more than one. Running and running to make sure that they don’t replace me. They all look the same, just slightly different. There’s slight breaks between them chasing me. I don’t want to know what will happen if they catch me. Run and run in this maze. They might be skinwalkers or some other thing. I don’t want to know what they are, but there’s more than one of me. I haven’t found an exit so I keep on running. It’s just me in this maze. More than one of me, but still just me. It’s unsettling to see yourself chasing you. 

I have yet to see anything else besides myself. I forgot how I got in this situation, but here I am. I think I did try to talk to the one that didn’t look too different, but then I started to run when I saw that they looked really similar to me. They started to chase after me as well. I’m not as worried about them, but the one that’s chasing them looks like it’s face is crumbling. I don’t trust any of them, so I’ll keep on running. 

I’m not actually sure why I think that they’re trying to replace me, but usually in movies when there’s more than one of the character it’s trying to replace them. Just gotta keep running. I don’t want to meet my demise in this damp, yellow, maze of a place that I’ve found myself in. Its carpet feels like it’s made out of moss and the lights are dim, yet somehow still bright to keep a person awake. A fog covers each room. I sometimes think that this is causing my memories to become hazy. It’s all very dream-like… maybe more of a nightmare. 

There’s more than one of me here. One that’s a bit normal and one that’s breaking down as we run. There’s one in front of me that came close then started to run. I just keep on running to avoid being caught now. That last one is starting to catch up. 

An answer?

An answer, an answer.

One, two, or three?

Are these the answers you wanted?

An answer, an answer

three, two, or one?

You wanted an answer, but it’s wrong?

An answer, an answer 

One, two, or three?

You say these answers are wrong.

Are they? Are they?

Three, two, or one?

The answer is right there, but you don’t accept.

Why is that? Why is that?

One, two, three.

You say there’s only one. One way to answer.

An answer, an answer 

Only one, one, one.

Only one, but why only one? When is it one?

An answer. An answer.

One? One? One?

Even math has more than one answer.

Some answers? Some answers?

One, two, thousands?

Maybe more than one answer, but which one?

A answer, a answer.

One. Two? More?

You ponder these questions. No longer a answer.

An answer, an answer.

One. One to answer it for now.

It may not be the answer, but it works for now.

An answer, an answer.

Grassy Hills

This year has been Interesting, new, and stressful. Sometimes that stress is from my own procrastination or thinking something would be easier than expected. Sometimes it breaks the wells and causes me to cry, or be stressed in non-stressful moments. It’s not often, but it hits hard. To help relieve some of that stress, I write or I imagine that I’m out somewhere that isn’t in front of a computer doing homework or a project. It tends to be green, grassy hills, The ones that you see in Ghibili movies or any show that has really nice grass animation (“Howl’s Moving Castle” or “Land of the Lustrous” to be more specific). There I sit, and stay there, watching the grass and the clouds. Maybe a few rocks here or there, but just hills and grass. An oasis in a hectic and chaotic mind. A place to go to for a bit of peace. Just a grass hill.