Everything begins with a lining of some sort.
You take your pencil, and you draw where your mind takes you — wherever it leads.
You draw here, there, then a big circle around it.
Or perhaps an oval.
A square wouldn't do, as a square has corners. Life, and the events within it — they don't have genuine pauses. It's all a never ending story.
Even when you lay down to rest, your dreams still take you places. You never stop traveling against actions: real, or otherwise.
If you don't like the story you see, you can't really do much about it unless you're willing to put efforts into changing it.
The matter of change is awfully complicated. Life is what surrounds all change — it creates the mold of it.
Abigail Banks didn't know where her things began, if they changed, or if her lining was a circle or an oval. Her molding was undiscovered.
She simply sided with the odds of normal, because normal was the most likeable case amongst her peers.
Invisibly, she decided to throw a tarp over her molding, because she didn't want to be different.
It didn't exist.
The possibilities of being different were nonexistent in Abigail's mind.
Let's say Abigail changed without purpose, because she was defiant against her own molding.
Perfection is a primary craving, but it's a tunnel — a never ending one. She wanted to go down the tunnel, and she did — but she got lost.
When you go down a never ending tunnel, you're not going to be found the same. Difference is what you would face abruptly, if you didn't previously face it yourself in a gradual manor.
It's in your face now; it's all there. You breathe it in sharply, but you don't like the taste. You don't like the way it feels, or the way it takes over your senses — you can't move your feet, but your toes are wiggling without warning.
Everything will be without warning, and you'll soon question yourself things, like, "Who am I?" or, "Where am I?" or maybe even, "Why am I here?"
You might get mad, and blame someone apart from yourself.
You did this to me. I changed because of you. I don't like who I've become, and it's your fault.
Abigail did — she had someone to blame apart from herself.
That was, after all — what she told herself, anyway.
YOU ARE READING
Why She Was In Denial
Short Story"Everything begins with a lining of some sort. You take your pencil, and you draw where your mind takes you - wherever it leads. You draw here, there, then a big circle around it. Or perhaps an oval. A square wouldn't do, as a square has corners. L...
