自我 • METAVISION THIS, METAVISION THAT. HAVE YOU EVER META GIRL?
Being Blue Lock's Social Media and Communications Manager is a lot more work than Shion Kirigiri signed up for. Good thing Grammarly can help!
we finally have a good cover thank you s...
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IT HAPPENED FAR TOO QUICKLY. As many things came and went in my life, so too did my dream.
Quite frankly, the loss of it was my own fault: giving up everything I had worked for meant nothing. But for linguistics and communications, I needed to interact with people, and in my predicament, I couldn't. It felt stupid – it was stupid. I hated myself for it, because the second I graduated junior high, I dropped out of school, taking the rest of my aspirations with me. I became known as the girl who burnt out, the girl who disappeared, that odd girl who lingered around the convenience store to grab an energy drink every few hours; nothing like my past glory, or whatever it is you want to name it.
Sometimes it's best not to put labels on things.
What was once a dream became a wish; what was once ambition became a hopeless yearning for the past. What remained of me was the jagged pieces, reminiscent of something truly lovely.
I moved, so I didn't have to see them again, so I didn't have to wake up fearing that someone was watching me, that someone was thinking about me. I never wanted anyone to think about me again. I never wanted someone to recognize that I was someone on this planet, I never wanted to feel that ugly feeling crawling up my skin, I never wanted to acknowledge anything that happened or anything that didn't happen. Never again.
Let me claim the consequences of my failed desire to reach the top. Let me fall into the unpainted walls of my isolated home, and let me drown in the hell of my own making. Let me regret my talent, let me regret my face and decisions and life, and let me regret leaving all of it behind, too.
But, please, never confront me with the tragic past like how I was confronted with the sightless future.
"You're so hopeless, Shion."
𓇢𓆸
"So, just to be clear." My eyes didn't stray from my Advanced Javascript book as I responded to the woman seated in front of me. "I sent a rejection letter to your program, and because I rejected it, you're now here to harass me about joining anyway, because you need a prodigy in your rankings."
She hesitated. "Well, when you put it that way..." After a beat, she shook her head. "...that's not the point. We're asking you because you're the most available resource."
"By most available, you mean retired," I said, flicking to the next page. Even to me, my voice sounded brittle.
The cold marble of the dresser behind me dug into my bare neck. On the arm of the chair in which I was situated, my phone lit up with a new Instagram notification. "Why do you want me so badly, anyway? I've rejected you already. You could easily get any older marketing professional to do this for you."
"But, you're..." She trailed off. I didn't think she knew how to respond, because usually, people tried to justify wanting other people on their side by pointing out their good qualities. From what she'd seen of me so far, I doubted she could identify anything. "I..."
