Synopsis: The Mysterious Effects of Being Alive

The life of Dreams, Hopes, and Wishes
We are presented with a feature of ideals, like a movie, when we are children growing up. The world is changing at too rapid a pace for a blanket statement on this, but I believe when I was becoming older, it was only acceptable to want to become someone when I ‘grew up’. For the life of me, I cannot figure this expression out. Now, I understand that language has become mostly strings of phrases and expressions tied together with ‘if’s, ands, and buts’, but honest to god, I simply cannot fathom the idea of growing ‘up’. The way I see it, being a child is the highest pinnacle of one’s mountainous life. It’s all downhill from the moment of your birth. You are pure and unaffected when you pop from the womb. You know no evil, you have no influences, you are entirely innocent, save the power you have over your mother and father. You don’t know that you’re meant to be someone. You understand that you already are someone. It is when you are a child that ‘to be’, simply, alone, is an occasion in life. It is when you are first born that people of all ages are enthralled with your existence. This lessens as you age. You aren’t a novelty any longer. You aren’t a miracle at this point; you lose the magic dust and powder. It wears off with every step you take, and every mistake you make. You become a ‘grown up’ and people begin expecting you to do more than breathe and giggle and poop for their entertainment. You become inappropriate and subject to the values of others.

Life is a whirlwind. A bicycle tire. A pile of falling leaves. Nobody ever understands it, most of us pretend to like it, and some of us pretend to ‘get it’. What are we here for? Why are we alive? We don’t stop to ask ourselves these age-old questions, as the answers aren’t out there. Our lives are fading into routines of music, work, family, friends, fun, scrabble, crosswords, sunshine girls, and graham wafer crackers. Our creativity is worthless and unimaginative. A world outside of the grounds of the earth no longer exists. My name is Sierra. I love cats, good food, and my boyfriend. I’m eighteen, and I have no hope. These are the memoirs of a suicidal teen without a reason to die. These are my reasons to die, and my reasons to live. This is my story. These are my hopes, dreams, and wishes. This is my failure, my resolution, my heart and my soul. This is my Jesus Christ. My loaf and fishes. My gift to the people. My publicity stunt. My Dan Aykroyd. The life I had, once engaged to Princess Leia in her gold bikini, now lusting and cumming over nothing more than a fifty-two year-old writer with barely a script to her name. Nothing but an attraction, or collective longing and hesitation to move forward from the woman who now wears blue make-up like a clown. That is my relationship with life. Understand?