Rattle The Shutters

I sat there, still. Staring at the screen, trying to decide what is acceptable to my Electronic Maker. He who I fled from not too long ago, yet I still wondered if this or this would be acceptable,- yet that was why I had fled in the first place. Oppression on whether to know what was right or wrong. Now, now, don't go thinking this is a God reference- surely it isn't, although I am trying to be a follower of God. Neither will I give you the specifics on what exactly happened. You can interpret this as you want, if you haven't noticed by my writing style already- I don't exactly want you to get this. So back to me, or her, or whoever the story is about- I could feel the wheels turning in me. I sat there, looking through the photos- trying to cancel out what was needed and what was excessive. Working on a mental budget is kind of tough. The chimes kept singing in my ears, when suddenly it felt as though the roll of filament ran out and cut. The wheels kept turning and turning with no substance to process. I kept trying to read and interpret the photos with little luck, not realizing whether I had already seen the last proof. I looked at my brother, then at my sister. The room began to get uncomfortably hot. I aired out my chest, and turned off the computer in front of me. My head began to hurt with pulsing pain. Becoming irritable, I began my siren calls to clean up the mess around me. I needed some sort of control before I began ticking. Ticking like a bomb- tick tick tick tick. It was 5:48pm. I took random things, throwing them from one place to another, trying to rearrange the havoc around me. This here, that there! No! Not there, open the chest and throw this here! Pull out the hangers then hang everything laying around on them! I was moving so fast I could almost ignore the reverberation in my body. I could feel the wheels crushing against each other, I was fall apart on the inside. There was no use of asking the Maker to repair me. Nothing but myself could repair me, so I'll just let me break down and start again. I turned on the kettle, maybe chamomile would help cool me down. Oh, God, the kitchen is ablaze! My dear brother, extinguish it! Running back and forth, maybe my body can outrun the thoughts and turmoil in me. Mother came home, and held me back. With one quick switch, she shut me down, and I was down for the count. I awoke on my bed, with my chamomile on my bedside, not sure whether to sit up. I did so, and realized that, if I were human, maybe this would be what it were like for those who were anemic with low blood pressure, sensed the lightheaded-ness, and laid back down. Maybe now I'll be okay, hopefully this is the only time that I will have one of these fits, and I can start fixing myself from the scrap metal left around the room.