Paradox

Prologue

*Image of Hatakeyama Sonya on the right.

~ Prologue ~

One more torturous week and the school year would be finally over. Hatakeyama Sonya, of course, loved what she was doing, but she had already been killing herself for days making and finishing her plates. Pushing herself so hard, she had already reached the point of self-pity on some days. The circles under her eyes were developing into bags she might as well use them as luggage. Really, how much sleep can a girl lose?

A thin film of dust had settled on her Xbox, having been undisturbed in the past few weeks. She guessed she must’ve even lost a pound or two. Her desk was an absolute mess: references and art books either piled over each other or strewn across the desk, paper clips and bull clips in a frenzied clutter near the corner, Post-it’s on books and on the wall, pencils and pens and erasers, watercolor pencils, pastels, brushes spilling out from her pencil case—which was more of a small toolbox, really—her iPod nano hidden under a bag of chips, her cellphone, a small emptied plate of cookies, and a half-emptied water canteen.

Yes. The whole table was occupied. And no, the floor was not spared. There were other reference books piled on the floor and so were thick illustration boards and several small canvasses she had taken home with her.

Sonya stretched on her chair, her hands reaching toward the ceiling. They were so dirty from handling pastels and charcoal the whole afternoon. And they hurt really bad. If her hands were not multicolored from art materials, anyone seeing them would think she burned her fingers scarlet. She had not experienced this much pressure since… Well, never. The fatigue was hellish!

For the past week—until this week—her professors wanted new pieces on different subjects and media almost every single day.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Sonya struggled with the mood swings which constantly trifled with her imagination. There were countless times when she just couldn’t make the gears in her head work. This was a major adversary. And she didn’t want to settle for mediocrity. If it were any consolation, at least the pressure was going to be over soon.

She let her hands fall to her sides and shut her eyes. They were hurting as much as her hands did. They burned slightly under her eyelids. They felt like a hot plate sizzling at the first drop of water.

Ouch. She thought.

She gave a low grunt and kicked gently at the side of her desk to make the chair turn. She hugged her knees as the chair revolved slowly on its pivot. When it felt as though the chair had circled 360 degrees, Sonya swung a hand over the shelf beside her desk and grabbed the remote for the television.

Sonya jumped a little on her chair. It was an interview with Ukita Kenoyo, the drop-dead gorgeous actor-slash-singer-slash-model she adored. He was most well-known for his talent in singing, other than his acting skills and modeling prowess.   Standing an incredibly sexy height of 6’2” with a crown of beautiful auburn hair, high but soft cheekbones, knee-melting chocolate eyes, strong sharp nose, full pouty lips, and a chiseled jaw sloping down into a rough v-shape chin, it was an understatement to say handsome. For all she knew, Kenoyo could have easily been some kind of dazzling erotic god in his past life… If such a thing were true, that is. How could someone so perfect like him exist? That had to be some kind of sin in itself, right? And that gorgeous sculpted body. She drooled over it countless times, well figuratively.

The woman—a face whom Sonya recognized but couldn’t seem to attach a name to—was asking Ukita Kenoyo was about his next album tour and his plans on his booming career; it was so obvious she was struggling to control her nerves with her occasional giggles. The twinkle in her eyes screamed desire and the way she fawned all over him was just absolutely scandal material. On any other day, Sonya would’ve been disgusted, but this time she wasn’t really paying attention.

She caught herself staring absently at Kenoyo. What would it be like spending the day with him?

A sigh filled the air.

“Hm… What if?”

Sonya stood up and looked at the mirror standing by the cabinet positioned to the left of the flatscreen TV, right across her bed. She stared at herself for a while, turning her head from left to right every now and then.

She moved closer and scrutinized her eyes, her nose, cheeks and lips. Nothing wrong with her, really. Of course not… It’s just that…

“Dinner!”

Sonya wheeled her head toward the door. It came from downstairs.

“Oh, yes! I’ll be right there!”

She turned off the TV and quickly scurried out of her room to feast on a well-deserved meal. Her imagination could wait. 

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[ Keith ]