Collapsible Embankment:

 

Being on the bus for hours, as it were, tying up a semi-important line of access into all things developmentally challenged, we face a heavy handed schism of sorts, bound to tear apart our resources and leave us heaving, gasping, and choking on a sizeable variety of vulgar literature. Read it, and you will be warmed, as if on a stove; glazed, as if in a bakery; and placed on a rack, under sticky, unappealing glass, to be displayed for the passers-by on the street, already late and wishing like hell they didn't have to look at that mess in the window.

 

On the other hand, if you refuse to read it, you may be left behind. School children will point at you and laugh, taunting, "he didn't read it!" or "she obviously doesn't know about it like we do!" Can you afford this sort of thing? Is the air thick enough that you can rely on your own two legs, long hair extensions, and exportable convenience goods, to be sold at below-market prices just so that your secrets aren't laid bare upon the face of all that is not portly?

 

These questions are yours, alone, to struggle against, searching for handles in a tepid, steamy, unwelcoming pitch-black room, up against some surface that you can't quite identify due mostly to its horrendous stench and chattering teeth. You've bled all over the things that are better than you, but you've never asked the teacher for a fresh pencil. You've got none of your little dots filled in and it's getting late.

 

THE BELL WILL RING ANY MINUTE NOW.

 

Made a decision yet?

 

It's alright. The government doesn't want you to draw a map. We'll all understand if you come home, oblivious, and fall upon your warm, comfortable bed, shutting it from your mind forever. We won't taunt you, we're more mature than that. Some times it's best to keep your eyes to the front, and not look around. We've all been there. It's disgusting, the things that are true. It's repulsive, and you can gag on it. Don't read it. Forget you ever heard about it. Sleep for a few days. You'll come out okay. You might not even know what they're laughing at when they point. You might just figure you're having a bad hair day.

 

Consider nothing. Apply everything.

 

Exasperated Storehouse