She

Something that has been bothering me lately.

We are who people think we are. We are defined by the way we do our hair, by the unique way our eyes sparkle every time we laugh, by the simple way we shrug every time we do not know an answer or we just don't care. People see us the way we want them to. They judge every move we make and put a tag on us. To this tag there will come others and they too will define us. And this is who we are. Every breath of every day says something about us.

And there is the other us. The one hidden from our conscience. The one who scares us. The one who creates the images of the monsters under the bed in order to prevent us from finding out who he or she is. It has no gender, but if you get to know it, it might be a boy or a girl. We catch glimpses of it every day but we deliberately choose to ignore them. A twitch of the bed sheets in the morning, a dream totally unrelated to our feelings or a glimpse of someone else staring trough your own eyes in the mirror. We see them, the signs, we wonder briefly, but we ignore them. It is the only way to prevent schizophrenia. It is the only way to not acknowledge our deepest desires.

So we keep being what people think we are. Normal ones, like them. With no other side, no other personality waiting to merge with the illusion of normal and distort it to it's limits. Every day we walk to school or work and smile. We are the nicest of people, the kindest, the ones with initiatives. We do not allow our self to show or even feel frustration. We are afraid that it will want to come out and play. It can show us the side of the world we've never seen before. It will want to show us what we truly want. And that scares us, so we stay in charge as well as we can.

The only time we meet it is at night, when we are alone and we feel alone. I talk with it every night now. Mine is a girl. She tells me she would like a tattoo of 2 dragon wings on her shoulders. I am tempted to let her come out just for this. I do not have enough courage to get this tattoo, but she has. She is the brave one. The one who will tell the world to go to hell if she doesn't have her way. I admire her for this. We stay up late and talk. I tell her where it hurts and she does not tell me the right thing to do. She tells me what I want to do. And that makes me feel scared and good at the same time. It's a weird feeling but you should try it. It's addictive.

So I wait for the day she comes out to play. For real.

Author's Note

I'm sorry if you will find occasional grammar problems. I'm not so good at this.

Reviews

[fwvalidus]

This is a very good little story. I don't know how I feel about it, which is good. It makes me think and decide how this can relate to me personally. I'm not sure if I can relate to it, but I understand it and applaud you for how brief this was but how you were still able to create something worthwhile. Please take a look at some of my writing if you have time :)