Jemma Morgan

A Story by Meg

Just messing around with describing characters. Called it a story because I couldn't think what else it could be.

There are some people who, though you might see them every day, are completely forgettable. When someone mentions their name, you might remember they have a large nose, or wrinkles around their mouth, or eyebrows that droop down over their face, but other than a bulbous nose, wrinkled mouth, or droopy eyebrows, you can’t remember a thing about them. Jemma Morgan was not one of those people.

The strange thing was, there was nothing particularly special about her. She was not beautiful, at least not in the usual way. She had no striking qualities or exceptionally fine features. In fact, had her face belonged to any other girl she would have been unremarkably ordinary. Her hair was a bland mix of red and brown so that instead of being a brilliant, glorious copper it was rather a dull rusty color. Her eyes were a deep woody brown without any hints of gold and her skin was dotted with constellations of freckles that gave her a look of perpetual childishness.

No, it was not Jemma’s appearance that made her so extraordinary. For all her virtues, beauty was not one of them and she didn’t seem to mind. She carried herself as one who had realized such at a young age and chosen not to think about it. She laughed once that it was only through the gift of her genes that she had not grown up to be a vain woman.

Oh, her laugh. It was not enviable either, but something about the joyous sound was infectious. Whenever Jemma Morgan was in the room, laughter seemed to spread like a disease, catching even the sternest of hearts off guard.

But Jemma Morgan was so much more than a laugh. She saw the world in a way that few could even come close to understanding. She saw hope. And not just in the sunshine and the flowers and the birdsong. Anyone can find the hope in the beautiful things. Jemma found the hope in every morning, no matter how cold or bitter or dark or rainy. “Even if you can’t see it”, she would say to me, “the sun is always there, rising and falling the way it always has.”

And that was the way Jemma was. Completely unpredictable in the things she said and did, but always consistently smiling and laughing. Every time she spoke I saw a glimmer of her world and it was beautiful and magical. Her voice was rich with passion and awe, the same emotions that lit up her eyes. She was the kind of girl who made you feel valued just by looking at you. If Jemma Morgan looked at you, you were the only person that existed in the world. You could just tell you were special to her. And that made her special to you. No sane human being could ever forget being valued. And so she became valued. She became completely and utterly unforgettable. Not because she was cool or popular or pretty, but because she was so wonderfully herself.