Anyway,please read it...It'll probably be the closest to a novel I'll ever be able to write.>.<;; Comment,criticize,whatever.Avatar Arena voters,if you actually come to look,feel free(and please do) to ignore the oh-so-mangled version currently set up as my entry's description at this moment.
Shame.Didn't even a ranking.Stupid last-minute downvoters...I was actually in the 300's most the week...*sob*
Read on,now,folkies...
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She stares at herself in the little hand-held mirror often, but no matter how often she looks, or how hard she tries to make out the image, it never makes sense to her. She sees someone else – never her own self, as if an imaginary smoke fogs up the mirror, hiding away that genuine being hiding beneath the black and white mask of false emotion – always ranging from ecstatic joy to white-hot anger, though never seeming to fall quite upon the slight…Well, perhaps more than slight… Could you call it quite depression? More of an empty feeling, she thought. She didn’t often feel whole enough to really…Well, to really feel in general. If she ever felt true emotion, though, it somehow always ended as a sick feeling of regret, sadness, self-hatred. She was a sad excuse for a being. But she refused to show it to anyone, especially not they who she loved most. Her entire life, her entire being… Even if the mirror cleared, even if the teasing wisps of smoke left her, would she want to see what lay within the rounded scoop of glass? Her entirety, her life from beginning to end, was nothing more than a shoddy piece of patchwork. Over-worn boots, perhaps, constantly trying to fall apart, constantly trying to give out, long past their breaking point, but never allowed the grace to finally die a peaceful death. Always being sewn back together by an stubborn, unwilling to release hand. Thorns seemed to p***k her forehead, upon which lay a forced happiness, even through the blacker of her false moods. Thorns, provided by the rosy band that lay there in cheeky innocence, tainted a shade of black undetectable by the unsuspecting people around her, unnoticed even by those closest to her. Always present, as well as this, was a fantasy bouquet, a symbol of mourning for her marred life, perhaps? Not even she truly knew. And then… Always… She could never shake it, never could pull it down… Above her head always lied – and always would, without tire or chance, she realized and re-realized all to often – lay her one real hope, her one real wish. A desire for a perfection she could never reach. A hope for true happiness, for every patch and every missing chunk in her life to be mended. Always just out of her reach, despite the ever-taunting fact that, if it had solidity, it would be in arm’s reach. That unobtainable success and fulfillment, forever leaping and bounding inches above her head, never to come down and heal the invisible wounds that were the shattered remains of life. . .
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And the avvie itself,simply for the sake of memories once every trace of this entry is disappeared from the Arena...
