One of my all time goals is to become an established writer
in one way or another. The thought of writing books has crossed my mind, but I
never really get around to finishing what I start. I haven’t really gotten
around to writing a meaningful story from start to end. There have been random snippets
or short stories that I have attempted writing based on random prompts for pure
entertainment. But I haven’t written something that I could say was “a start”.
But then again, anything counts right? So one day, a friend of mine showed me a
writing competition for a story. The general concept was to write a story that
goes against the norms of society. I don’t really remember where I was going
with this, but this is the closest I’ve gotten at investing myself in writing
something real. It won’t get me anywhere to just keep my attempted writing to
myself, by doing so I’ll just be at a stand still of some sort. So here goes
nothing. Here is my attempt at writing a story. I didn’t get farther than an
introduction.
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Every morning I wake up to a twisted reality that has become
my atmosphere. Life wasn’t always like this, not mine anyway. Here I am
standing in front of the mirror, cup of tea in hand contemplating my outfit. As
my wide hazel brown eyes scanned over my loose auburn curls, my black
turtleneck sweater on black jeans, accompanied with black flats, and
accessorized with a simple red pendant, I sighed. I like the comfort of dark
colors, especially in the winter. Everything seems normal so far, doesn’t it?
But you see, where I’m from, that surface image of the way that people live is
nothing more than a show to cover up the twisted, shallow, soul crushing truth.
Oh, how I miss the days where I would be defined by what I
did. If only people took the time to see what I am capable of. Somewhere along
the line the value of a person fell lesson actual values and lid more on the
materialistic taste that has taken over.
As a woman, I am nothing without the labels. That is what
the human race has succumb too, especially in this society. I want nothing more
than to be able to move people through my words, but I don’t exist without the
labels. How could I ever expect people to hear me if they can’t even see me?
Today is somewhat special. I’m applying for a public column position
in a well-known local magazine – Extravagant – it is the go to source of what
people accept in this community. Even though it is kind of a long shot, it’s
worth trying. The opinion section of the magazine has articles that advise
people on how to think of their surroundings; whether it is people, clothes,
food, places, anything really. During the last issue there was a revolting
article on how a woman’s grace comes from her ability to balance herself on
Louboutins. I still remember this one exert:
“Grace is amongst one
of the most prized characteristics of a woman. A woman without grace is an
individual unworthy of admiration. Christian Louboutin’s new collection has set
the bar high this season! Any woman able to strut the streets in these beauties
is a woman with high grace and elegance! What do you think ladies? Do you think
you have the grace it takes?”
I winced at the thought of how ungraceful I would be
perceived in my plain black flats. It’s not that I have trouble in heels; I
just don’t find it necessary to wear them if I’m planning on running some
simple errands.
