It was like a rope went from Amanda's heart to a boulder beneath her feet. It was tight and strong and she felt like she couldn't move. Every thought that would have taken her in a direction was tugged back before a step could be completed, her imaginary foot hovered, struggled for a moment, then came back to keep her still, over the boulder.
She thought to move away, but the boulder filled with dollar signs, and she came back.
She thought to clean up, but the boulder filled with question marks about where to start, and she came back.
She thought to read, to nap, to surf the internet, but the boulder filled with guilt, and she came back.
Amanda's mind bounced back and forth, and she raised her foot every time, even when the thought had already proved fruitless, and the short, thick rope bound to the immovable boulder made her come back.
She felt her thoughts panicking, which she knew by experience was followed by a panting, grey hopelessness and, as predicted, tears already pricked her eyes, but a new thought came.
She thought of freedom. Of sky. Of lightness. This time, the boulder did not fill with memories to drag her back. It did not fill with a to-do list. It did not fill with guilt. Amanda thought of freedom without any specific "how" of getting it. She thought, and she gasped when the rope snapped.
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