Confessions
She got off her stolen stage, sighing deeply and solemnly. Her pink quills fell to cover her face, as she walked from the scene; boots clicking noisily due to the silence. Her green eyes didn't gleam as they usually did; she barely felt herself move. But she did it.
She cleansed herself off, thinking deep. Thinking of all the things she proclaimed. Her lips were unfit to speak them, she knew this. It felt wrong. Unjust. Unforgivable.
She turned the faucet off, stepping out of the water stream and onto her cool bathroom floor. Sighing again, before pattering across the room to retrieve a towel.
Who was she, to say all those things, while she herself was a liar? A filthy, impure liar.
Even all the water and soap in her house couldn't wash it away.
"I just feel so wrong…I want to make a difference. I want to do the best I can, but at the same time- I know I'm unfit to do anything. How can you tell someone about hope, about love, about life…when you, in private, don't remember them? If I talk about the danger around, but I , myself, have given into it, how can I even do anything with it? I just feel so lost and- and awful."
The atmosphere was cool and dark in the room, furnished mostly with oak. There weren't many people around them in that diner, and for that she was grateful.
The table that was between them was occupied by two glasses of lemonade but otherwise barren.
Rouge was silent for awhile after listening to the other's talk. Amy wondered if it was because of contemplation…or disinterest.
"Well, I'd say you make a good point. 'Practice what you preach' is what they say, right?"
She was silent again, as she took another sip.
"I don't think that dismisses you, though. I'm not a perfect advisor, yet you're asking for my advice. I think it's rather ironic, really."
"Yes, but I'd still feel rather bad about it. If anyone knew, they'd never-"
"Want to hear from you again?"
Amy nodded.
She paused again, to think. She looked at her; an inquisitive expression appearing.
"Tell me, do you write from your heart? Where are your ideas from?"
Amy tried hard not to blush; and therefore took another sip. "I write from-from my heart, yes. I think we all do…I think we all do everything from our hearts."
"Are you, do you think, a liar in your heart?"
"Well, sometimes I feel like it… It's not who I try to be."
"I know you don't. I know you want to be genuine and pure, I see it in you, you know."
"I try."
"Someday you will be that way. You're going to stumble; I'll probably make a mistake somewhere in my advice. But don't stay lying on the floor. It's a lot, I know, but you don't exactly do it yourself, either. Do you?"
"No, no, I guess not."
"Don't guess it. You know it, hon. Admit it."
She sighed again, but with determination. "Okay." She stood up from her chair, abruptly.
"Do you mind if I go to set things straight- as straight as I can, I mean?"
"Sure, hon." She stood up too, so they could embrace.
"Thank you so much, Rouge."
"No, thank you for asking. I'm quite surprised when I get asked to come listen and advise….it's a rarity, at least. "
"I'm a bit surprised by that, actually. Thank you, again. I'll see you later."
"Bye, hon."
Amy skipped out of the door, with renewed hope and strength.
The rest was up to the audience.