"We Revolve Around You"

The Dakota Planet

"We Revolve Around You"

The Dakota Planet

"We Revolve Around You"

The Dakota Planet

A Maze of Regret

A+Maze+of+Regret

I could hardly remember the previous night.  

Maybe I’d been a little stupid—I wasn’t exactly known for making the greatest decisions in the heat of the moment.  

Though, here I was now. The walls, the floor, the ceiling was all magenta.  

I slowly stood up from my spot on the floor, looking around for any clues as to where I was. Maybe I was dreaming, or hallucinating, or I got kidnapped.  

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Maybe I died.  

Strangely, I didn’t feel all too bothered by it. I didn’t have much going for me apart from working all week just to waste all my money on drinking and Friday nights out with my friends.  

A few years ago, I would’ve been disgusted at the thought of what I had become now. I was self-righteous, thinking my morals were absolute and I’d somehow had the right to call all others evil.  

However, things changed one night, and I realized the truth.  

The world is in the palm of evil, so I adapted and began to fit in after I graduated and stepped into reality.  

I work a dead-end job, not really caring much for my health. I had tried in the past to “improve” myself—it’s crazy what one would do for the one they love. I told myself I’d improve, I’d quit my dumb habits, and get a life. Maybe I would’ve gotten a greater job, one where I wouldn’t end my life being nothing but a footnote at best in someone else’s mind.  

I walked through the magenta halls until they faded to orange. As I walked for what felt like hours, I spited myself for the pounding sensation in my head.  

I cursed my recklessness. My time of mistreatment towards my own body was finally catching up to me. I bought whatever I could to try and force a smile onto my face. Anything that could my feelings drown away.  

Whenever I’d lay in bed, unable to sleep due to my soberness, I would remember what happened. What I did on that one, horrible night.   

I lost it all. I lost everything. I lost my motivation to improve, to be a better person. 

So why try at all? I’d just live my life, rotting before death.  

I don’t understand.
I thought,
I don’t understand it. 

I tried to figure out where exactly I was going, wishing someone could tell me the answer—guide me to the end of this labyrinth of a building.  

Was it a building, or was it hell?  

The walls shifted from orange to light blue. At least this color was a nice break for my eyes. As I walked and walked, I could somewhat remember the night before.  

I was gonna drink myself to death. 

I had thought to myself in a joking manner. Of course, I’d never encourage anyone else to follow my path. But I had already dug my own grave the second I drove away the only person who ever believed in me. The only person who genuinely saw potential in me.  

We had believed that we’d grow up, get rich, and die happy and old together. 

Yet, I just had to drive them away with my stupid addictions.  

 

Finally, I approached the end of the hall. A dead end.  

I walked for who-knows-how-long just for a dead end?!  

And as I finished my thoughts, the floor below me withdrew and I fell. I reached towards the sky, hoping I’d grab onto anything that would save me from the fate that awaited me. But, as I fell onto the ground, I didn’t feel a thing.  

I looked around, the room was red. 

A sign was hung up on the ceiling, towering over me.  

Welcome to the Inferno.”  

Welp. I guess this place is real after all. I thought to myself as I slowly treaded forward, unsure of what would happen next.  

The only thing I could recognize were the never-ending halls, forcing me to reflect on my mistakes as I kept walking through this hellish maze.  

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About the Contributor
Emily is a senior at Dakota High School, and this is her first year at the Dakota Planet. For nearly seven years, she's been writing creatively in her spare time as a hobby. Emily is also the president of Writing Club and the Historian of Women's Empowerment Club. In the future, she plans on writing professionally as an author.
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