er eyes furrowed around and scampered through their hollows like a rabbit emerging from its hole for a few minutes to get a sniff of the air. She walked her finger across the sheet of paper, never once blinking, and never once trembling, but her hand moved on and the critters in her eyes followed her finger unwaveringly.

Then at last her finger slipped off of the last black letter and fell to her side as if stolen of life. Her rabbit eyes rolled over, a corpse was left of its once vibrant fur. She turned her head left and right, her eyes were still hovering over the paper staring like a pitiful dog begging for sympathy. Yet there was none. The words etched on the paper by my hand were cruel, but only toward her.

My Mother's skin seemed stretched out and painted upon by an invisible painter, covering her once vivid cheeks with fleshy torment. And then she looked up. I looked at her in an attempt to show any scrape sympathy, but it was futile. Her eyes, as they looked into mine, filled my soul with self hate. I felt as if I had cut apart the link between Mother and Son, leaving me totally alone.

And then, as if her hands were being controlled by a puppeteer hidden somewhere above the ceiling, they begin to dance across the edges of the paper until they found the perfect spot. They began to strain toward each other until the paper was pulled to opposite sides. Then, it began to tear. At first only the smallest piece was split from its side, but it grew. Soon the sea had parted and the space between the two sheets was clear. Then the two sheets became four. And then eight. Sixteen. Thirty-two. Then the papers fluttered down and came to rest, murdered on the floor.

I stared in an endless glare like looking at the bottom of a well but continuing to search for a bottom beneath the visible one. I had written my heart into the papers which lay mutilated on the floor. I had dipped them into my heart and coated them in my emotions. They were the truth; the truth hurts some, especially those who it is directed at. I looked up at my Mother again, then back down at the death of my freewill, I loved my Mother, but my thoughts had hurt her. I would never allow that again.

I had written all the pessimistic views of her which were possible. Everything which I thought bad of her, or evil of her, were written on that paper. All of her obsessions and imperfections, everything that I had noticed. From her constant computer use, to her neglect of our family. Everything had been written, everything had been told.

I looked at the floor blankly; her eyes were carcasses, just like my soul. I watched my soul lay dead on the floor. And I felt the waves of my heart swell against my reason. I hated this woman. She had taken my entity and shredded it to nothingness, reduced it to emptiness, and then stepped on it in fury.

I looked into my Mother's dull expression, I stared at the emptiness which lay dead in her eyes, and I locked away my emotions, never to hurt someone again. I was only a boy, a mere child, yet I had torn away her heart and thrown it to the wayside.

I lurked into my room and slammed the door. Distraught lay across my bed that night, not a boy, only distraught. My emotions began to turn again slowly, boiling against the wall I had locked them in. They wanted to escape.

A solemn tear gathered in the corner of my sea green eye like water rippling an ocean. The strange thing about the ocean is that only when you see the whole body of it can you see the true olive green color of the sea. But if you steal a part away from it and gaze deep into it, all you see is yourself staring into a reflecting pool of water. I am an ocean.

My emotions were churning and mixing in a swirl of uncertainty. Each one bit and tore the other, but still I remained one. I was the ocean waves that attacked the grainy shore. Breaking myself into millions of sloshy white bubbles but recollecting the broken parts, gathering my soul. Just like the ocean.

It was a midnight hour with the moon hanging aloft in the sky with millions of blasted star bits piercing the black velvet of night. The golden glow of the moon reflected off of my pallid face, its light a guidance to the fish of my eyes. Creatures swam on all surfaces of my being. All were touched by the iridescent moon; all were kissed by the soft yellow light. All but one, my infinite soul. Just like the ocean.

And in the darkness a single drop of water severed the placidity. The long standing pool of water grew a soft ripple. And the ripple moved slowly and carefully, only treading where its energy would lead it, never buckling to death, never crashing to a wall, but silently traveling. Then without warning the ripple of thought and emotion grew and rose to a monstrous wave and glared down into my soul, and I was petrified. For inside me, my emotions had taken shape in my soul becoming a wave to break itself upon my spirit, and the moonlight did not see.

As the moonlight reflected off my face and my pale skin radiated with a shimmering golden serenity, the tear which had lingered on my eye for a long moment stirred and dropped to the floor. And while the tear drop fell and let go of my lashes, plummeting to its death, the wave in my darkness pelted against my soul and I whimpered a soft whine. For at that moment, I was alone in my mind. Left with nothing else to hold onto but myself. I had been abandoned. A single ship lost in a winter's storm.

I was the lone standing ocean, given many names but still being one. I was the infinite mystery, but never with company. I was the body that held millions of lives, yet none for me. I was a single creature, a single essence, just like the ocean.

I was the ocean that lay across the land like a great lake surrounded by the world. I gaped at the world behind the glass shield which stopped my coasts from growing further. The glass that had been placed by my Mother and reinforced by me. The words were made emotions, my emotions were made words. My love for her had made me stop. My hate for her had made the malicious words in the first place.

Seeing her distress had made me section away my emotions. They had hurt her. But I could no longer contain them. I was only a child, yet I had made a grown woman cry. Those tears had stopped my emotions from growing. But they could not be contained anymore; I had to let my emotions out.

I sat still and watched the tides of change flow over their basin. It was all I could do as a child, watch in awe as things changed that I could not stop or control. I gazed as the currents grew in the snaking gale and buckled against my boundaries.

And then I realized that I still lay in bed and the waters of the ocean calmed and cooled within me. Their surge for freedom slowed to the slight licking waves of a bright day. So the ocean, being I, was locked away. Set to live in the same area until the barrier was destroyed. I was only a boy.