Cog in the Machine

Curled on the floor, bound to a timepiece, a woman’s fractured form reveals a spirit crushed under life’s burdens. The clock’s unrelenting tick marks time she feels trapped within, its hands turned by unseen forces beyond her control. Deep crevices lining her skin expose a soul worn down trying to conform to a system rejecting her uniqueness.

She cannot discern the murmurs of her weary heart, drowned out by the grinding gears in the walls boxing her in. The machine’s maw churns day upon day, demanding she subordinate hopes and dreams to its schedule and not her own. It feeds on silent sacrifice, human resources reduced to obligatory motions.

Yet sometimes rebellion lights within as her tired mind recalls days when passion moved her, not duty. She remembers what sparks her soul, beyond prescribed roles. What vision once breathed life through her veins before it was methodically managed into acceptable order? The glimmer of freedom starts to melt her shackles, reminding her that she is more than just a cog in the machine.

As the true self awakens, breathing deep of its own accord, the confining walls crack open. Light streams in, revealing a way out, if she dare seize it. Emerald flames flicker around her as her inner guidance tries to catch her attention. Her soul’s calling. ”This is not all you are”, it whispers. “You were born for more than mundane machinations”.

She struggles to stand, muscles stiff from confinement. But as spirit stirs awake within her, bones creak into motion once more. The clockwork tries to reclaim her with worries of lost time and expectations to fulfil. But a new song rings in her heart, soft yet insistent, drowning out the din of ticking clock. It calls her home.

Slowly dragging her chained ankle, she limps toward freedom, following the distant melody through the open door. The machine rages but cannot grasp her any longer. Her time now her own, she walks into the light, reborn and unbound.