The Other Ring.

The Second Day

TUESDAY

Daria sat on Jane's bed, pen scratching rapidly across the paper in her notebook, ideas flooding her mind. She had woken up that morning feeling disturbed, off-kilter, though she couldn't put her finger on exactly why; she couldn't remember any bad dreams, which were the usual cause of such morning jitters.

The mood had lasted throughout breakfast, and it hadn't mixed well with Quinn's dissertation on the pros and cons of short hairstyles for hot summer months. She had told Quinn that if she wanted a truly striking look for summer then she should go for the cool bald look, giving her admirers the chance to compliment her on her shapely skull, adding that maybe shorter hair would not sap so much energy from her brain.

Quinn had replied that only weird artsy girls still thought that the bald look was in, that she had already been the recipient of several approving comments on the symmetrical shape of her head, and had finished with the suggestion that she and her weird artsy friend should sit in on a gathering of the former Fashion Club to find out what would be fashionable for artsy types in the next season.

To the dismay of both their parents, the conversation had just gone downhill from there, and by the end of the meal Daria knew that she was going to have to spend the rest of the day not just isolated in her room, but totally out of the house.

Daria had felt a twinge of guilt over slipping into her older patterns with Quinn, when they were finally starting to find some common ground, but by the time she was halfway to Jane's, any residual remorse was crowded right out of her head by a flood of ideas for her new Melody Powers story, all of which took their inspiration from one of the images from the tape Jane had brought her yesterday.

Which is where she found herself now, writing furiously to try to capture all the nuances and details she saw in her head before they slipped away into the ether.

With an unoccupied corner of her mind, she wondered why the disjointed and enigmatic scenes from the video could be so strongly suggestive, how they could form a narrative in her mind almost of their own volition, with what felt like very little shaping on her part.

But while she was curious, she would not argue with such instant inspiration; one of the first things that any writer learned was to capture such momentary flashes as quickly as possible.

She was not the only one so in the grip of her muse; Jane was painting furiously, barely finishing one image before tossing it aside and starting on another. Pictures of ladders, wells, twisted and leafless trees, dead horses. And on every canvas, somewhere, out in front or hidden in the background, a ring, a slightly uneven but unbroken circle of paint.

All of them drawn in a curious angular style, quite unlike Jane's former works; in subdued colors and black and grey, in contrast to her accustomed colorful approach. If Daria had not been sitting in the same room, watching her in the throes of creation, she would have been willing to swear that these were the work of another artist completely.

But isn't that what every artist wants to do, to progress, to never produce the same work twice? If Jane is using the tape as the means to that end, then all the better for her.

They had spent most of the day in silence, appreciating each other's company without feeling the need to interrupt the creative process; but after several hours the rush began to wear off, or at least to recede temporarily like a tide, and conversation began to leak out.

Jane ran her brush along the canvas. The very thought of that tape was enough to make Daria flop onto her back, hanging her head off the end of the bed.

Jane: So how's it been looking for a college? Next year going to be are last one of school.

Daria: (groaned) It's been hard to find one but each one still feels like high school. I was counting on college being the start of my exit from the purgatory of high school into the beginnings of my real life. An environment where I am surrounded by people chosen for their intelligence instead of their physical proximity.

Jane: Without actually having to live in contact with any of them.

Daria: I'd like to be able to ease into the experience, yes.

She sat back up and watched as Jane continued to apply color to canvas.

Daria: High school isn't real life at all; it's not even preparation for it. I just don't want any additional problems to deal with as I make the transition.

Jane: I told you before, I can do some work for Gary's Gallery, send you my half of the rent.

Daria: I can't do that to you, Jane. You can't afford artist burnout right before you try to get into BFAC. I've shared a house with Quinn for seventeen years; I can share a room with an unknown irritant for four months.

Jane: Maybe I can sell some of these at Gary's.

Jane mused as she put the final touch on her newest piece, then replaced the filled canvas with a blank one. She considered for only a few seconds before starting up.

Daria: Yes, nothing says artistic sophistication in the suburbs like a painting of a dead horse.

Jane: It's a comment on the death of nature in modern society. It's environmentally conscious art, perfect for the walls of SUV owners and hairspray addicts.

Daria: Just the thing to hang on the wall next to the mounted deer head.

Jane: Yeah I meant to tell you that but I have the tape to some one. There going to make a copy of it and try to find where it was made.

Daria: What about the original?

Jane: He's going to give it back when all things are done.

Daria: Why go through all of this for some tape?

Jane: I was thinking of sending it to Sick, Sad, World. You got me thinking about that.

Suddenly, Daria didn't know what happen next she just grabbed her pen and started moved it around. She would have to transfer all of this to her computer later, which is where she usually did her writing, but it was critical to capture the ideas as they came and not censor herself merely to shorten that future repetitive task. The room faded back into silence.

Author notes

Like I said in the last chapter. After every chapter and every story. I will say this.

R.I.P Akira Toriyama. Thank you for everything.

"Always remember these words: Work hard, study well, and eat and sleep plenty. For that is the Turtle Hermit way."