Time is encased in a flask that pours the same sand. It defuses the extremes of our intricate lives as we live in a "well-established" society. Our survival is based on emotions. Ironically, our instinctual nature is the downfall of all mankind. For instance, a cure can be the cause of death... Oh, well, I once again drifted into critiquing humanity. I shall introduce myself. It was a normal cloudy day when I was born. Born was I, or so I was told; honestly, I have never felt alive. I inherited my name from my grandmother. May her soul rest in the heavens, for her name was Beatrice. My mother modified the name. Instead, I was named Beatrix. Beatrix Morrison, to be exact. My life was simple, nothing complex. I lived in a moderate city. I attend public school for the most part. I have plenty of hobbies and chores as well as homework. So I was well occupied. Be well aware that this world forces you to neglect yourself to comply with obnoxious duties. School became my only personality as I aged. A sufficient academic achievement came with the weight of stress and depression. Certainly, we all struggle throughout our lives. Our lives are just like stories. Personally, stories are meant to be told. Let me bore you with the story of my pathetic and somehow thrilling life.
As you are now aware, my name is Beatrix. The common nickname I am called is Betty. Honestly, it annoys me. You might hear me call myself Trix, never Trixy. My appearance is of no importance, as your eyes only contemplate words. Still, I will describe myself in case you are wondering. My height is average, and my features are dull. My eyes and hair color are the most common combination, brown. My skin is light with the ability to slightly tan. My wavy hair is cut up to my shoulders. My face is covered in light brown freckles. The way I dress tends to be wacky, according to my mother. I am not allowed to go out in a full hardcore outfit. So I wear some pieces of clothing or jewelry that give my ordinary clothes a style. My style is alternative and punk. Anything edgy with a tone of recklessness is my vibe. I ain't no trouble maker. It makes me sick to the core that people who dress with spikes and in black are stereotyped as criminals, while basic people are the ones with higher crime rates. Crime and mystery are my passions. Becoming a criminologist or a detective is my goal.
When did my conflict begin? I was clueless until I concluded that it was because of him. Could a boy really affect me? I ponder among myself. I don't have friends, so there were no trusted peers to ask for advice. At the end, I managed to keep calm when I saw him. I saw him strolling through the hallways as if it were heaven. My mind blankly believed he was an angel. Eventually, he was indeed, when he became my savior. Never was I into any guy. It felt strange. I might be called a hater, but I was sincerely displeased by couples. So how was it possible for me to long for a hug? Evenings passed in which I felt drawn to the thought of him.
(Internal thought)
"Am I insane? It is stupid to like someone. As if anyone will ever want you. What foolishness is this feeling I am feeling? His eyes are shimmering crystals. What am I even thinking? Either way, I am too young to know how the world works."
Indeed, I was disturbed in mind and soul. What I have not mentioned is that at this point, he was my friend. At least I have formulated a friendship. A friendship that I could dissolve if I dared speak of liking and love. I did not feel ashamed to express my emotions. Even though most of the time, I would rather be perceived as a stone-hearted machine. Time is described as the solution to most problems. In reality, time is the escape that people have from confronting their problems. After a while of learning and sharing moments with him, I realized that he and I were soulmates. I did not mean it romantically. I simply felt that he and I complemented each other while sharing common interests. He was made to be in my life, either as a lover or even a friend who is so dear to be considered a brother. I became self-conscious when I was around him. I did not fidget with my hair or make any sign that I was attracted to him. Paranoia took over me, as I started to notice him staring at me when I was unaware. He continued his charming and respectful ways, which made me fall over again. Oh, and yes, I did fall at least once on the school stairs and on the sidewalks. I am reckless and have little caution about where I am walking. Recklessness and perfectionism are certainly not the best combination. Well, if I have not mentioned, I tend to be rude, obnoxious, and arrogant at times. My most sincere apologies in advance. I advise you to continue the lecture on my pessimistic life. I get easily distracted as well, so you might hear humorous stories about how I ended up accidentally buying an empty cigar box or the time I almost drowned. Back to the main point. I felt uneasy each day. A fool in love is the most valuable fool. Even so, it all seemed to be cool. How could I express such feelings?
The moments and memories are so vivid. Exciting and horrifying was the way I experienced my first love. There was no doubt it was affecting me. I idle through my days, searching for a solution to my current dilemma. Lacking understanding, I was doomed to suffer.
One day, this handsome fella and I were walking together. The sun made his hair glimmer like a gold mine. His eyes turned into amber. The wind whispered between both of us. Never was I ever so calm. For a brief moment, the earth rotated around the two of us. He said, "Goodbye, see ya tomorrow. By the way.....you look nice." In shock, I stopped walking. He, with a tone of embarrassment he quickly responded to my expression by saying, " I am sorry, did not mean to make it weird. I just thought you needed to hear something to cheer you up, after all, you are a nice girl." I reply, " Umm.. It's alright. Well, thank you, I guess. Enjoy your day. See ya.." Those words were rare to hear from him. Did he really think I looked nice? His politeness always made me internally blush. I still hold those words dear to me. The first time I was ever complimented by a boy. My brain replayed that phrase, and my veins contracted.
Upon a very fortunate day. Truth became a psychedelic fever dream. A normal day became a holiday. Was it fate or destiny? Neither, the reason was courage. Courage brought up to the surface this wondrous news. Fragments of an unforgettable event remain untold.
"May I please speak with you? I might sound strange and rushed. But it seems important after all, you are my best friend and deserve to know," he said. "Of course, we talk each day. How could I help you?"...