please read my essay and critique as much as needed! it is for the common app 'topic of your choice' prompt. thank you so much!
I would have never thought that I would enjoy being dehumanized. My identity has been stripped and four digits are given in its place. I am not my father's silver trophy, my mother's perpetual toddler, my sister's shadow, anymore. And my clothes, baby soft cashmere sweaters and skinny jeans, are gone. I have instead messy, sweaty, dirty clothes that cover the minimum. My name is no longer the defining asset of my character; I am simply another face and body now. My hair is pulled so tight that my scalp is burning, and my lungs feel as if they are being crushed by two twin towers. And I am running for my life. I whir past evergreens and smoky pines, uphill, downhill, uphill, downhill, uphilldownhilluphill... I inhale almost desperately, the icy air slithering down my throat, curling around my lungs and kissing my heavy tongue as it escapes in silvery puffs. The wind's tarantula-like legs crawl through my clothes and gouge me viciously in the face.
And I love it.
Masochistic pain flows in my veins as I sprint downhill. I accelerate faster and faster, a vehicle or machine, until I am no longer a person. Whatever I am though, I am free. Although difficulty breathing becomes me, suffocation escapes me. The gleaming sunset and endless midnight blend into an infinite horizon above me. As I draw to the bottom of the hill, I hear screams and frenzied cries. Downhilldownhilldownhill... That black mass of noisy ants melts into human shaped figures as I near. They are neither my salvation, nor am I theirs. The sweet taste of victory begins to sweep across my lips, and I savor it, ravenously. The wind picks up beneath my feet, but I don't fly. No, I soar. My lungs scream wordlessly to my ears.
No. This is me. My identity has never been clearer. The excruciating burn eats at my calves, devouring my muscles. But I am not as relentless in my flight as I appear, for I am in pursuit. The armies of ants begin their indistinguishable chants again as I near, focusing on the bright yellow that has determined my worth up until now. I look up at the flock of west-bound birds against the brilliant colors of the sky, and I, #4392, have never felt more alive. I quicken my pace one last time, and dash across the makeshift tickertape finish line for some that sugary victory again. Crowds cheer and friends scream my name, handing me goblets of water. I gulp them down but am not quenched. Hands and arms smother me, coiling around me like never ending tails of snakes; I prefer the tarantulas. A superficial garland marking my success is placed upon my head, but I no longer care for the triumphs of school marathons. I run, but do not flee. I have tasted a burst of independence today, and that is my true triumph. Instead, I will again, chase.
I would have never thought that I would enjoy being dehumanized. My identity has been stripped and four digits are given in its place. I am not my father's silver trophy, my mother's perpetual toddler, my sister's shadow, anymore. And my clothes, baby soft cashmere sweaters and skinny jeans, are gone. I have instead messy, sweaty, dirty clothes that cover the minimum. My name is no longer the defining asset of my character; I am simply another face and body now. My hair is pulled so tight that my scalp is burning, and my lungs feel as if they are being crushed by two twin towers. And I am running for my life. I whir past evergreens and smoky pines, uphill, downhill, uphill, downhill, uphilldownhilluphill... I inhale almost desperately, the icy air slithering down my throat, curling around my lungs and kissing my heavy tongue as it escapes in silvery puffs. The wind's tarantula-like legs crawl through my clothes and gouge me viciously in the face.
And I love it.
Masochistic pain flows in my veins as I sprint downhill. I accelerate faster and faster, a vehicle or machine, until I am no longer a person. Whatever I am though, I am free. Although difficulty breathing becomes me, suffocation escapes me. The gleaming sunset and endless midnight blend into an infinite horizon above me. As I draw to the bottom of the hill, I hear screams and frenzied cries. Downhilldownhilldownhill... That black mass of noisy ants melts into human shaped figures as I near. They are neither my salvation, nor am I theirs. The sweet taste of victory begins to sweep across my lips, and I savor it, ravenously. The wind picks up beneath my feet, but I don't fly. No, I soar. My lungs scream wordlessly to my ears.
No. This is me. My identity has never been clearer. The excruciating burn eats at my calves, devouring my muscles. But I am not as relentless in my flight as I appear, for I am in pursuit. The armies of ants begin their indistinguishable chants again as I near, focusing on the bright yellow that has determined my worth up until now. I look up at the flock of west-bound birds against the brilliant colors of the sky, and I, #4392, have never felt more alive. I quicken my pace one last time, and dash across the makeshift tickertape finish line for some that sugary victory again. Crowds cheer and friends scream my name, handing me goblets of water. I gulp them down but am not quenched. Hands and arms smother me, coiling around me like never ending tails of snakes; I prefer the tarantulas. A superficial garland marking my success is placed upon my head, but I no longer care for the triumphs of school marathons. I run, but do not flee. I have tasted a burst of independence today, and that is my true triumph. Instead, I will again, chase.