The short hand slowly moves away from the number thirty as we all wait; its steady rhythm we endure as twelve o’clock approaches, lifting the heavyweight off of our hearts. Here they stand, as they all wait in a room filled with tranquility and exhilaration. For me, it’s a room filled with perturbation. Here we stand, as we all watch the tall mahogany instrument come to life. It has a beating heartbeat — the mechanical gears breathe as they slither against each other! Twenty-five seconds left. The vibrations of the pulsating filled the atmosphere as the metal gears ground together. My mind is dead silent as the never-ending clicking noise synchronizes with the beating of my hear! Guilt—reminiscences from this year smolder behind my eyes, hot enough to make the ticking device smolder!
“Fifty more seconds, guys!” Are am I ready for this? Are we all ready for this? I am running out of time! It’s too late! My old memories I wish I could rewrite— they will be left behind! Here we wait, as the new year approaches once again. My ambitions for this new year glow beyond my skin, so bright like the fireworks in the night sky!
“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!” Six. Five. Four.
“Three! Two!” One. Their hands reach the air as the delightedly cheer—too electrified for the arrival of the new year. The ticking device chimes as it celebrates with the chorus of people cheering. Cheers to the new year!
This social media app. I thought it was pointless. I told my friends this when it was first released. I resented it like the devil resents heaven. Until the devil became my friend. Until the devil’s spawn of fire and ashy flames draws you in, like a mindless fly to a beaming porch light. Once you start scrolling, you can’t stop. You can’t stop. The app is addicting. It’s used for pleasure, which is the exact reason I didn’t want to download it. I knew I’d be suckered in, and the addiction would become too much to handle. The devil’s interrogation technique to the insight of a person’s weakness. When you open the app, a new world is bestowed upon your eyes.
I signed my signature on the contract to hell when I set up my profile. The contract can’t be broken. Devil’s rules.
You begin to laugh when you open the app for the first time. You begin to feel sadness. You begin to feel happy. Laughter. Sadness. Happiness. Laughter. Sadness. Happiness. One after the other. The devil watching you like a hawk circling over its meal. The app gives you suggestions. It recognizes you. It knows what you like. It knows the people you watch. That boy from North Carolina. That girl from California. The twins from New Jersey. It knows everything.
The devil observes through the screen. Your screen is his playground. He can do whatever he wants on it. Whatever is on your screen is on there for a reason. This app will consume your attention until it’s finally time to come back to face reality. Until reality slaps you across the face so hard it knocks you back onto your feet of senses. You won’t like it once you leave. You’ll want to go back for more, but when reality calls, you must answer. That’s exactly what he wants from us. To desire more and not leave it once we’ve arrived. The stability you possess is taken over by a tug of war game, the devil verses your emotions. Now, I pay the price for losing the game. I pay the price for not listening to my intuition. My need for satisfaction has grown, and my patience has worn thin. The immediate rush you feel when using this app is something you can’t replace. TikTok. That’s it. That’s the devil’s stomping grounds.
I saw her in the theatres of the spring of 2012. Sun-tainted skin. A disheveled brunette braid, not the type you usually find on ordinary people. Her eyes were gray windows into the soul as she saw her friend pass away. Her friends were her greatest fears as they left her empty with nothingness. The vulnerable girl she had not met in sixteen years suddenly jumped out on screen. Diamond-like tears tumbled down her cheeks. Asking for help as she looked at the trees towering over her. At least the trees were better than people who trapped her in a game.
In this game, she carried a bow of guilt. In this game, no one was her enemy. In this game her own emotions were her greatest enemy. Vulnerability was desired from the audience who had none left in the real world. This teenager’s skill with the bow and arrow was what ranked her above others. But was her loneliness a weakness? She used her independence as a weapon against all the lies. These lies were an illusion. At the age of seven I admired how she placed her responsibilities over romance. She did not wait for magic like Harry Potter. Her fiery temper was her own and no one else’s. She was never talkative. Tranquility was a superpower. She silenced the world with a mockingjay that brought her closer to justice. On the outside she was as spiky as a dragon fruit. Out for fights and confrontation. On the inside kindness flowed out to her followers. She shot injustice with the same hands she held Rue with on the field.
Her name was Katniss Everdeen. She was my role model. She was my hero. She was a woman who wore her anger in her fiery dress. She was unapologetic. I saw her in the theatres of the spring of 2012. Sun-tainted skin. A disheveled brunette braid, not the type you usually find on ordinary people.