Children of the Program Read Online Free

efforts of the most aspiring neighboring artists.  She embodied the official animal of her country; she was a unicorn, one in a billion and her palate, a rainbow.
                  Her paintings had the power to heal the broken and resurrect lost innocence.  Born with a gold spoon in her mouth, and accustomed to the finest of easels, her poetic canvas demanded the adoration of the elite.  Her home was a gallery and her parents never wavered in hosting their support.  She was educated and dreamed of attending the University of Edinburgh, where she'd graduate, fall in love and spend the rest of her days painting a financial future for generations to come.  She was the epitome of grace, style and class.
                  The curse of having it all was never knowing what it might be like to want.  Ash struggled with genuine connections and in understanding the limitations of her endeavoring peers.  She couldn't help but perceive them as lazy, misguided or beneath her elitist standards, which made developing meaningful relationships a cross. 
                  Who will I identify with? 
                  Who can I respect? 
                  What can I gain from these people?
                  These questions plagued her innocent mind.  This curiosity left her in a watershed, stuck between brilliance and bliss.  She knew the other half existed, but was unable to traverse the channels.  In a blink, her troubles were forgotten; her eyes, distracted by the beauty in her art, the magnificence of her mansion and the sea of surrounding possibilities.   A curtain wall stood guard, making sure the lower class didn't penetrate her ignorance.
     
    +++
     
                  All of The Program’s chosen ones had an obstacle.  Only a heightened purpose could clear the debris and undo the unconscious bias of our upbringings.  For now, we were young.  During puberty, I would notice my iris turning a subtle violet color, while performing.  This was a signal, meant to guide my adolescent pursuits. 
                  This physical manifestation of synchronicity inspired our art, encouraged our practice and sought to ignite the sacred gifts buried within.  There was a certain level of narcissism required in identifying with this spectral shift, but an otherworldly justification in doing so.  It was important for the participants of The Program to find and develop skill-sets and recognize their innate calling, as to attract and connect with the outside world, but more importantly to lure compatible love interests.
                  We incubated. 
                  I treated the world like a stage and relentlessly reinforced the voyeuristic instincts of its inhabitants.  It was this cinematic state of mind, which allowed me to observe the brilliance of inspired creation.  School nights were spent scribing carnal riddles upon loose leaf paper, in hopes of someday purging my animalism upon unsuspecting theater patrons.  Gazing through the lens of an alter-ego provided enough detachment to explore the depths of an expanding soul.  The awaiting underground music scene was alive and breathing, and I, transfixed.
                  With each bedroom performance, my hunger grew and the radiant purplish hue in my eyes enhanced.  I explored and pined over the intention of each word, manipulated the positioning and timing of every lyric and began penning a musical diary of my experience.  A certain level of megalomania took hold, but I couldn't shake the sense of predestination.  When future reels of tape were set into motion, I longed for my songs to pierce the hearts and minds of even the most pedestrian of onlookers.               
                  Fulfillment was impossible and growth a constant.  It was the perfect breeding ground for eternal torment.  Closing in on my chosen skill-set meant I