The light, cool breeze flutters about my face. It is these kinds of things that make my day; simple things, yet pleasant and romantic.
I am a person. Blood runs through my veins, the beating of my heart spurs me on to live my life. And yet what is life? It is so elusive; I am not able to grasp it fully. But when I do, you will see my wretched face being twisted in some form of emotion, for it is then that I will start to understand all the life around me. Perhaps I will smile, for humans are beautiful and remarkable; perhaps I will cry, for humans have such an astonishing capacity for evil.
Right now, nobody means anything to me. I think that they are just tangible masses of matter with no apparent reason for existence. But then, slowly crawling over me is the realization that I, too, am like them.
Horrified, I strived to carve something out of myself. And so I did. Fiercely and haphazardly, I unearthed a successful basketball player with prodigious talent, a figure idolized by laymen and praised by peers. Is this the finished piece, I wonder? Sometimes I do hope that is so. I am lazy and too tired to push myself to explore new frontiers.
I am some sort of a celebrity. Everywhere I go, girls will whisper and point their ugly fingers at me. When I indulge myself in the pleasures of challenge on court, they wave banners and chant silly phrases. I do not want that. I just want to be alone, protected against everything alien in my own little solitary shell. Why do they do that? Am I beautiful, to them? It is all very enigmatical; all is lost on me.
I gaze down at my hands. I have long and bony fingers; it is the only part of me I find remotely beautiful. Not because my eyes tell me so, but because my heart and mind tell me so. My hands can perform wonders. My fingers, in one precise motion, can direct a basketball to where it belongs – the basket, of course. They can manipulate the motion of the ball so well. They can manipulate the game.
I pick up an orange ball from the floor. It is perfect in its symmetry and rough to the touch. When contact is made, I at once feel a surge of energy pulsing through me, urging me to run. Running, it seems so simple a thing, but imagine what life would be if we couldn't run. If we couldn't run, we would never be able to feel the wind rushing in such wild urgency past our skin, and that would be such a shameful loss.
I find beauty in a lot of things. The wind is beautiful. The rain trickling down my bare skin ever so gently and slowly – it is beautiful. But more beautiful still is the rhythm of a basketball ricocheting off the floor, and back into my hands again.
Kaede Rukawa
27th November 19xx
A/n: Written when I was feeling thoughtful. This if of course means that I was feeling bored. I hope it didn't bore anyone to death =X Please review if you actually sat through the whole thing. Sorry for the yawns caused =(
If anyone is feeling as bored as I, you might want to listen to some good music by good artistes like Badly Drawn Boy and Belle and Sebastian. The number of people that have been brightened up by their music remains frightfully little. Some songs that are nice:
Belle & Sebastian – Get Me Away From Here (I'm Dying)
Badly Drawn Boy (he's the one from the About A Boy soundtrack, just so you know) – Once Around the Block
Also, the title is taken off a song by a band called Dream Theater. Good song as well.
If anyone reads my other fic, The Detention Diaries (http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1056926), updates will come only late this week (saturday or sunday, perhaps?). I just bought a guitar and have been strumming till my fingers hurt (it's supposed to be a lame excuse that I can't type, heh). I am aware that all this is nonsensical and that nobody really bothers, so I'll end here =)
xoxo,
badly drawn girl