Analytically Affirmed- Pessimism Reflected

Analytically Affirmed- Pessimism Reflected

A Chapter by ScrayVyle

She was as crazy as the wind. Untamed as wildfire. Hot as the very sun above our heads. She was someone everyone wished they could be. Yet she was someone no one ever wanted to be. She was like night and day, switching moods, personalities, thoughts and ideas between both sides of her. No one understood her. She was alone in this world. Everyone adored her, but not once had they come close. They’d been too scared to approach. Like a polar bear at the zoo, everyone loved to observe from afar, through a plate glass window. But as soon as she would get close, as soon as there were no walls, the people would flee. Flee in terror; flee in case she might strike. Solitude was all she ever really knew. Driven by her own insanity, she traveled. Trying to find a place where she belonged. She knew she would find it someday. But where? How? Unanswered questions ran through her head. She would sit and stare at the ground, knowing she would never find a conclusion to her misfortune.”

Writing this bought upon deep-seated frustration. I forcefully closed my laptop and pushed my chair away from my desk with more strength than I intended. The chair spun too much to the right and I was left staring at my reflection in the large dirty mirror across my room. A small, frustrated reflection was glaring back at me. I contemplated the figure for a few moments. I noticed the furrowed brow put there by the frustration of self-realization. My long hair was messy, but held back in a ponytail. It's one thing I didn’t like about myself. It was plain brown, brown like potting soil. It was about as boring as I felt I was. I wanted to be exciting; I wanted to be an enjoyable person to hang out with. But every time I tried to become that person, it would end up being awkward for everyone involved. I just had to accept that I was socially awkward and would never overcome it. I shook my head slowly and closed my eyes. I brought my hands to my face and let my head fall down. I breathed deeply and slowly, trying to keep my pessimistic thoughts at bay. It was a challenge to remain positive when you disliked yourself to the extent that I did. When I opened my eyes, I looked back into the mirror for a second and brought my hand to my hair. I ran my fingers though my ponytail, feeling its wavy texture slip through my fingers, running through a few knots on the way. I did this a few times before I turned my head away and stood up. When I did, I pulled down my bunched up shorts, turned and headed towards the door of my bedroom. Before I reached out for the doorknob, I looked back to catch a glimpse of myself yet again. I wished I were pretty like the other girls at school, would love to know how to apply makeup as flawlessly as they did. I wanted to style my hair in perfect ringlets or put it up into intricate, well-planned up-do’s I didn't want to be me to put it short. But as I thought about how much I detested my appearance and who I was, I started to recall the words my mother always said to me,


“Every experience is seen through your mind’s eye, so when you change your mind, you change your entire world.”

 I’ve been trying to make sense of the quote for years now, but I have never been able to apply it, my negative mindset always would get in the way every time I tried to change my mind. It was frustrating really, I wanted to think of myself as beautiful and unique, but I just couldn’t see it. 


I opened the door to my room and shut it gently behind me. I furrowed my brow and looked around. Something felt like it was missing. I shrugged and walked down the hallway into the kitchen. I walked up to the island and leant all my body weight up against it. I looked around again while tapping my fingers on the surface of the counter. I shook my head slowly when I realized my mother must have been working late again. She was never on time. Once or twice she had been, but this is the way it usually is. She says she will be home on time but she ends up being late. I stood back up straight and walked over to the cupboard. I knelt down and retrieved a large pot. I thought it would be a nice of me if my mom were to come home to dinner already cooked and the table set for the two of us. I carried the pot over to the sink and held it as I turned on the tap to let it fill with water. When the pot was about ¾ full, I turned off the water and carried the now heavy pot to the stove. I turned the gas burner onto a high heat, covered the pot and let it sit to come to a boil. While I waited for the water to boil, I walked back down the hallway and opened the door to the spare bedroom. Once inside the door, I heard the eager scuffle of claws against metal. A bell jingled as robust movements were made. I shook my head and laughed. I walked up to the cage and stood there staring, watching the poor creature struggle to contain its excitement. The sound of small teeth chewing on the metal bars made me feel a little concerned. I bent down and tapped on the little wet nose that protruded out from the cage while whispering a stern “No”. The jingling of the bell sounded again as the small, furry head was shook. Animated footsteps climbed up the wooden ramp onto another metal platform and the eager face was seen waiting patiently at the door of the big metal cage. 

I opened the door slowly and held out my arm so it made a bridge for him to cross over. His claws dug into my arm as he slowly walked up, balancing on my small arm to get up to my shoulder. Once he perched happily on my shoulder, I reached into the cage to retrieve the empty white porcelain food dish. I went over to the shelf in other corner of the room and filled the bowl with food. Before I left the shelf, I placed the bowl down and grabbed for a small sandwich bag containing a few small treats. I opened the bag and as soon as the pungent smell hit the little beasts nose, he attempted to scamper down my arm as fast as he could. I quickly managed to grab him before he fell off my arm and onto the hard linoleum floor. I brought him to my face and he licked his lips and stared at me. I put him back on my shoulder and handed him his treat. He made content squeaking noises as he ate his treat. I picked up the bowl and finished putting it back in the cage.  

Suddenly remembering the pot I had left on the stove, I quickly hurried into the kitchen. The water was at a slow boil; I then went to the pantry and brought out some spaghetti noodles and sauce. I placed those on the counter before I went to the fridge to grab the meatballs I had made out of yesterdays uncooked hamburger meat. Apparently the smell of the meat was enticing to this pudgy creatures nose and he leant forward to get a sniff. I pushed his head back and quickly shut the fridge. Before I continued with supper, I walked back to the spare room and set my crazy pet down just inside the door to prevent him from falling into the pot of boiling water. When I set him down, he twisted and jumped and ran away to excitedly attack his stuffed dog. I laughed and shut the door before returning to the kitchen to finish up with dinner. 



© 2014 ScrayVyle


Author's Note

ScrayVyle
Finished up this chapter!! Now up for critique!

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Reviews

Well, this was posted quite a while ago, but I'll go ahead and give you my thoughts just in case you check back here now and then.

This story has rich texture. Your descriptions are vivid and realistic. I love starting with the piece she is writing. It gave a nice twist and segued into her dissatisfaction with her own life well.

All the details you've provided are rich and life-like, but--- it is a bit one sided. Every piece of writing must balance description, action and exposition. You've got lots of action and description, but all the exposition is balled up in the first three paragraphs. I am sure she is thinking something as she goes through the motions of making spaghetti and playing with her pet, but those sections are devoid of self reflection and interior dialogue.

I had a bit of confusion with this sentence: "I wanted to style my hair in perfect ringlets or put it up into intricate, well-planned up-do’s I didn't want to be me to put it short." What does she mean by 'put it short?'

I feel like this is a promising chapter. You obviously have skill. Mixing it up a bit might improve things, but i like this basic introduction to our character.

Posted 6 Years Ago



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Added on August 31, 2014
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Author

ScrayVyle
ScrayVyle

Canada



About
18|INFP|Intuitive|Empathetic| I live In a world I built in my own head, a world one would only be able to experience viewing my artwork or reading my stories| I convey my emotions through art| more..

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