(no subject)
WaaahreallyboredandIdunwannadoanythingproductive.
So I'll write. Randomly. With no clue what shall come out.
Waaah, can't think of anything. Even with rhiddle's help. I'm afraid this will be frightfully dull.
It was frightfully dull. Totally, completely, frightfully dull. A blank sheet of paper, with nothing on it.
And yet, there was something charming about it.
It's whiteness, perhaps. Andrenica had always liked white. Her people were really a dark sort, prone to deep hues of blue, green, indigo, and black. It all seemed very depressing sometimes, yet she knew that it was just the culture, and there was nothing she could do about it. Even if sometimes she just wanted to swim to the surface and come up for air.
It was funny, for all that her peers said they valued diversity, they were all the same. They may clothe themselves in elaborate patterns, embroidered with finely-detailed designs and intricate color patterns, but behind it all, nobody really tolerated true difference. What if somebody wanted to be boring for once? What if somebody didn't want to go to all that trouble to express their individuality?
What if there wasn't any individuality to express? Wouldn't that itself make them "different".
Andrenica was thoroughly unremarkable in every way. She wasn't terribly pretty, but she wasn't ugly either. She wasn't a brilliant genius, but she wasn't an idiot. She was neither remarkably nice nor horribly cruel. Her friends were all of these, but there was no real pattern to them. It's not like she hung out with a specific crowd.
And somehow, in a society that cared so much about individuality, that made her dreadfully easy to overlook.
Sometimes, she felt like her very unobtrusiveness made her somehow offensive to the people around her. Once in a while, she'd catch a dirty look thrown her way, a sideways glance that said "What are you doing here?" It was as if by not sticking out, she stuck out even more.
The one thing that she could call a talent of her own was art. She let nobody know about this, working in secret. It wasn't even something she felt she was terribly good at, just something she enjoyed doing. She liked observing the world around her and committing it to paper. Maybe she wasn't anything special, but all around her, other people were. And there specialness was something that they often did notice, so caught up were they in trying to seem special. Somebody had to capture it.
She glanced down at the paper to see what she'd drawn. It was still white, but there were faint scribblings on it, blurred shapes that she didn't really understand. She always did her best work when not thinking about it; something about letting her mind wander gave her fingers the freedom to draw what they really wanted.
She would come back to it sometime, another day when she was feeling bored. Now that she'd looked, she wouldn't be able to do any more today. Looking always spoiled it. You can't figure out what's really there if you think you know.
From downstairs, her mother was calling. "Andrenica darling! Dinner!"
Andrenica sighed and hopped off her bed. She could come back to it later. Food was good.
Down in the dining room, her brother was busy setting the table. He glared at her when she entered. "Why doesn't she Andie have to help with the household chores? She just stays in her room all afternoon doing whatever."
"Shut up, squirt," she replied.
A warning look from her mother suggested that perhaps this wasn't quite the best response.
"But mom.."
Okay bored now. Why do I always get bored with my stories? It's a rather big problem when trying to finish anything.
So I'll write. Randomly. With no clue what shall come out.
Waaah, can't think of anything. Even with rhiddle's help. I'm afraid this will be frightfully dull.
It was frightfully dull. Totally, completely, frightfully dull. A blank sheet of paper, with nothing on it.
And yet, there was something charming about it.
It's whiteness, perhaps. Andrenica had always liked white. Her people were really a dark sort, prone to deep hues of blue, green, indigo, and black. It all seemed very depressing sometimes, yet she knew that it was just the culture, and there was nothing she could do about it. Even if sometimes she just wanted to swim to the surface and come up for air.
It was funny, for all that her peers said they valued diversity, they were all the same. They may clothe themselves in elaborate patterns, embroidered with finely-detailed designs and intricate color patterns, but behind it all, nobody really tolerated true difference. What if somebody wanted to be boring for once? What if somebody didn't want to go to all that trouble to express their individuality?
What if there wasn't any individuality to express? Wouldn't that itself make them "different".
Andrenica was thoroughly unremarkable in every way. She wasn't terribly pretty, but she wasn't ugly either. She wasn't a brilliant genius, but she wasn't an idiot. She was neither remarkably nice nor horribly cruel. Her friends were all of these, but there was no real pattern to them. It's not like she hung out with a specific crowd.
And somehow, in a society that cared so much about individuality, that made her dreadfully easy to overlook.
Sometimes, she felt like her very unobtrusiveness made her somehow offensive to the people around her. Once in a while, she'd catch a dirty look thrown her way, a sideways glance that said "What are you doing here?" It was as if by not sticking out, she stuck out even more.
The one thing that she could call a talent of her own was art. She let nobody know about this, working in secret. It wasn't even something she felt she was terribly good at, just something she enjoyed doing. She liked observing the world around her and committing it to paper. Maybe she wasn't anything special, but all around her, other people were. And there specialness was something that they often did notice, so caught up were they in trying to seem special. Somebody had to capture it.
She glanced down at the paper to see what she'd drawn. It was still white, but there were faint scribblings on it, blurred shapes that she didn't really understand. She always did her best work when not thinking about it; something about letting her mind wander gave her fingers the freedom to draw what they really wanted.
She would come back to it sometime, another day when she was feeling bored. Now that she'd looked, she wouldn't be able to do any more today. Looking always spoiled it. You can't figure out what's really there if you think you know.
From downstairs, her mother was calling. "Andrenica darling! Dinner!"
Andrenica sighed and hopped off her bed. She could come back to it later. Food was good.
Down in the dining room, her brother was busy setting the table. He glared at her when she entered. "Why doesn't she Andie have to help with the household chores? She just stays in her room all afternoon doing whatever."
"Shut up, squirt," she replied.
A warning look from her mother suggested that perhaps this wasn't quite the best response.
"But mom.."
Okay bored now. Why do I always get bored with my stories? It's a rather big problem when trying to finish anything.