Like Gas in a Container (The Wicked Parents)

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I wonder what gas wonders if it were a living being. How it would be screaming and yearning to be let out. I keep imagining what it is like to be contained in a container.

I am just thinking how it would feel. The persuasion, the insistence, the pressure, the urge to want to be let out. The "I want to be out, I want to be out, I want to be out" that would be echoing like a mantra, only to disappear into nothingness, into thin air, or burn out. That's suicide, if only it knew where it was going to, what it was going to find, what would become of it. It doesn't know that it's freer in its container.

It is just like a child whose parents are strict, questioning, and reprimanding. Whose parents decided not to tolerate his or her indolence, ignorance, and the quest for what is unknown to them. They, like the gas, would term their parents all sorts of names, the last but not the least on the list being wicked.

That party they stopped you from going to felt like you missed heaven. The gathering, meeting, and outing that was not meant to happen, that you wanted to go to. The juvenile things you would have loved to try but you were not allowed to felt like you were disadvantaged.

A child that cannot think for himself thinks that's where life is, not knowing that others died while they were out there, some ended up in prison, some lost their way, some had a loose screw, some never came back home. We were like that growing up, we thought it was the end of the world. We wanted to try that which was prohibited, and our parents held firm to ensure we never lost our way or disappeared into thin air like the gas out of its container.

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