Whitewashed Walls

not much of a story writer myself, but i got somewhat inspired to come up with this after watching Shakespeare in love early one morning.. this was typed at about eight at night two weeks later... written at two am... dont know about a title, so im calli

It could almost have been a love story. Owing to the nature of the characters, a romance novel would never do. You see the hero is also the heroine, although not in some trashy love triangle way. The fact of the matter is the main character is both a woman and a man. The protagonist transcends all boundaries due to the fact that there are two halves to every story. One man and one woman, perhaps no more than a boy and a girl center the plot line from cover to cover; a love so deep that the pen and paper can hardly withhold it. The love, so cliché though it becomes something else, the love nevertheless exists within every living being in one way or another. Each set of eyes that can see or even imagine seeing type or printed word has a soul. And as most mothers can tell us or perhaps the internet if you prefer, each soul can lust after another. Each soul can desire, can feel, can want so desperately it is not even worth finding a way to live without. And yet, neither side of the hero/heroine duo believes in true love. Not even love at first sight, when it comes down to it. Each side to every story starts in a different setting, a different mind set, a completely different world for all applicable respects. And nevertheless, both sides of this story fit together.


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It was easier not believing in anything than blindly following anything out of faith. Wherever would that get me? Besides, I had a mother to mother, a brother to lose, and a reflection to find. Well, I guess the mothering is only half the time, when Mom’s actually sober. But when it comes down to it, no one ever notices her good days. It might be the reason she has so many bad ones, in all actuality. Scott was another matter entirely, that much was obvious. The fact he actually started taking care of himself was a miracle in it of itself.  The reality remained, though; one of mismatching socks and a never failing charm. God, can he talk himself out of anything. No wonder he was fearless throughout high school. It wasn’t as if anyone was actually going to do anything about it. All he had to do was bat his long eyelashes and pretend to be somewhat bashful whilst the other person in the room still thought they held control of the situation. Once they gave into his deep blue eyes and pained lip biting he was naturally free to go. The sad thing was that for all his looks and constant wistfulness, his friends were all absolute asses. Are is a better statement. I think that’s partly Scotty’s fault, though. It is not as if they force their company upon him, he just lets them be. I think he has trouble telling people what he really thinks of them because he seems to be so caught up in wanting to be liked. The girls fawning after him are his fault, I shall give him that. Once he sees something he likes in the opposite sex, they are off and about for at least a few hours before he realizes his mistake. Imagine trying to live up to that the next morning if you can. Sure as hell I won’t turn out like that, although his financial success might just make the strain worth it. Rather doubtful, if you ask me. But of course, no one ever does. Scotty wouldn’t dream of it, I assure you. For all he knows, I am just some innocent little sibling that needs to be constantly looked out for. I swear, I could seriously live without his fighting my battles. He doesn’t even live at home anymore, but he sure as hell find out what I’m doing from fifteen miles away quickly enough. It isn’t as if his down to earth approach would work on his own sister.

Long eyelashes lost their otherworldly appeal in grade school anyway. Looks shouldn’t determine someone’s outlook and yet every single time that phrase applies, it is as if no one has outgrown the desire of soft pretty features and desirable deep looking eyes. Anyone half decent looking relies on superficial beauty and never develops a personality, anyways. Id much rather never be called shallow than get caught dead pretending to be so much as half of what I actually am. I doubt anyone is willing to take my place as myself, besides. Luckily, I don’t have to worry about becoming shallow, so I shall be safely myself from now on. Not that there’s any doubt I wasn’t, just minor speculation at my occasional changes of heart.  Definitely not due to someone’s batting their pretty eyes at me, I can assure you. That’ll be the day. I can see it now; probably some dark hallway like the ones moves are always weighed down with and then some gorgeous redhead turns the corner and locks his green rimmed eyes with mine, and then the lights become muskier and the music starts up as he breathily tells me my name over and over again as we start kissing passionately. Then the credits start and everyone applauds as their tears are wiped away and drying as they wrap their head around the plot twist ending. Like most predictable romantic comedies, now that I think about it.  The kind that I absolutely despise and yet find myself at more often that I can account for or prefer to own up to. I just can’t help it. The crying is mere aftershock, I’m sure. It isn’t as if the sappy words and absurdly good looking people make tears well up in my eyes like after the Titanic or anything.  That would be way too mainstream. No one wants to hear another story like that anyways. Waste of money. Yet those movies end up at the top of the Box Office for weeks on end, despite my verbal complaints. There is mental complaining too, of course, but no one but me gets to feel their intensity and flavor, so they are not quite so concrete. They are much lighter and airy thoughts that come to me right before sleep hits and I lose all memory of them in the morning. Maybe I just want to hate things like that so much I make myself believe that they hold nothing but lies and false promises for me and drop the matter altogether. By far the most likely. If someone were to show me that there was such a creature that could be charming and beautiful and yet runneth(ing) over with personality, perhaps then I could be converted to a wide-eyed naïve little princess who thinks everything is to be handed onto a silver platter for the taking . Oh, I do sound negative now. On top of it all, I would really like to be a half-full type of person, too. Shows how far of a jump I am really taking lying to myself. I know I want more thank almost anything to be swept away by some presently anonymous being with big expressive eye and a crooked smile, but life and reality continue to intervene. The practical side of one me still lusts after the poetic intellectual, no matter how bright the irises. Reality being a deliberate anticlimax, it stands to reason that no matter how romantic my ideals seem, I am certainly not stupid enough to think that any of my dreams were going to just happen upon my doorstep. At least a part of me always stays somewhat level-headed (particularly at times such as these).

Author's Note

suggestions for what to do next?... my apologies for any typos in advance, just typed this up, definately rough draft...

Reviews

[Kaitlin W. Blaylock]

Nice. A bit wordy and lengthy for my taste, but you are very articulate.