‘Sensation of the writing on the wall’ by Alexa, Year 10

In here was heaven, nowhere else I’d rather be.

I turn my head sharply to my left, fixing my eyes on my colleague. He had several droplets of sweat that fell down his pale forehead as he used up all his strength in writing everything he could on the wall. I was doing the same thing too, just not as vigorously as he was – my auburn strands weren’t sticking to my face as there was no sweat to play the glue. Perhaps I wasn’t working as hard today, but I was too agitated.

We lived in this workplace, it had soft beds and unlimited food that you didn’t have to prepare and instead it was kind ladies in clean uniforms that brought it for you. All we had to do in return was write the wishes of people outside onto the wall. You hear these wishes through the mumbling that went on in your head and write them down to make them come true. Payment? That was unnecessary. The place gave enough, maybe even too much, solace for anyone and everyone, the atmosphere was intoxicatingly sweet like candy that rots your teeth in this case causing you to take it for granted. No gratitude would ever be enough for what this place gave.

So of course I felt bad. I was afraid of the very action that was so sensational it triggered fireworks to set off in every nerve of my body from head to toe. I was terrified of writing on the wall today. Usually the divine rush of using my very own fountain pen to allow the formation of impactful sentences emitted from the dancing of watery black ink was phenomenal. It was horrifying enough to make my skin prickle with goosebumps today because I had no control over the words that appeared on the walls today. They came by themself, in crimson ink. That’s why I looked from left to right at each of my colleagues, searching for whoever had control over the words that kept appearing. But nobody did. We all were equal so everything we owned was the same, from the same jet black ink to the same cerulean gowns and white wristbands.

Why is it that the writing was coming on the wall by itself? They didn’t seem like wishes anymore, they were just saying horrible things like ‘GET OUT OF HERE’ and ‘RUN AWAY.’ It wasn’t the usual ‘I WANT TO BE HAPPY’ or ‘I WANT UNLIMITED FORTUNE’ that I would usually hear in my head. It didn’t help that I overheard my colleagues last night making a scheme to run away. I could never be like them for the writing on the wall consumes me, I feel like it’s a part of me almost to the point where the wishes seemed like that of my own..

But they weren’t though, even though the voices in my head were that of my own. They told me I was brave for taking this heroic job and gave me some powder. The next day, I wasn’t afraid of writing on the wall anymore.

There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.