Chains. When you see this word, you automatically think of those in prisons, or a slave in a book you own. Manacles rubbing into raw, bloody skin. But there can be many types of chains. I am referring to those you wear. America, land of the free. If you think about this, we're not really free, are we? At the age of five, our captivity begins. We go to school for thirteen years. Thirteen years, wasted away on work. Can we not choose what to do with our lives? And yet, some go to college. For two years, maybe four. Possibly even eight. More precious days, just gone. And for what? Going to work again for twenty or thirty years. And finally, just finally, we retire. We're seventy and we can't even do anything anymore. We're slaves and we know it! Yet we sit there, like animals being trained. Look at your wrists, your ankles. Though the mark isn't visible, it's still there. We have grown accustomed to our chains. We live life, no protesting. But, wait! We need to work for a living. Why? Why can't we just share this earth. Our earth. We can't claim land! At any moment, the creator could give us all to hell for being so cruel, but he still hopes. Yet we've given up, polluted this planet. Soon it will be an empty shell. We ourselves will be empty shells, walking around like programmed droids, until we're just too old to care. Come on America. We're not brave. We're not free. Not truly. But, the question is: Will we ever be?
We have begun to clamp down our own manacles. Our own...
CHAINS.