"It's no use you telling me I should know what I want to do by now, because I don't." She ran a hand over her face, pulling the skin down and making her mouth gape. "I don't know what I want to do, all I know is that I'm sick of art, I'm sick of the whole thing, of the time consuming work, of never feeling like it's enough…" She sat down wearily. Her head drooped into her hands again and she rubbed her forehead.

"I just want to get away from it all, escape, never have to worry about it. It's not so much that I can't do it, but it takes so much out of me, and I'm not willing to pour my soul into it and then have somebody else do it so much better with less effort; I mean, what's the point?"

She looked up towards the ceiling, slouched on her bed. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to get easier, I was going to study and stop daydreaming, actually work hard for once in my life, make friends, get a boyfriend maybe…" She sighed, allowing her head to drop down so all she could see was the carpet beneath her. The same carpet she'd had since she was seven. The same carpet she had dropped water on by accident when she was playing with her make-believe kitchen and ended up getting into trouble over. The same carpet she had watched absorb her tears when her mother left. The same one that had make up stamped into it near the vanity, and the same one she had cleaned hurriedly one morning after an unexpected, but not unwelcome party a few years ago…

Another discontent sigh escaped her. "Instead I'm worse than ever. I just can't do it anymore. No matter how hard I try, it's never going to be enough. Everyone is always so disappointed in me and they always expect so much… I don't have anymore to give."

She stood, walking over to the vanity and collapsed on the stool, avoiding her eyes. Failure had always seemed that much more potent when she looked herself in the eye. "Is it wrong that I want to escape? I know; it was never supposed to be easy. I didn't realise it would be this hard…"

She swivelled around on her chair, turning her back on her reflection. "I keep on thinking, if I had known it was going to be like this, if I had known that I was going to struggle this much, would I still have done it?" She was quiet for a moment. After a second or two she answered herself, "Yes, probably. Maybe not art, maybe I would have done English or something, creative writing. I think I would have enjoyed that." She laughed humourlessly and said, "It's too late now, though. I've made my bed and now I have to sleep in it. I chose art so that's what I'm stuck with. I can't afford to change my mind; not now."

She kicked against the legs of the chair, curling her feet around slightly before letting go and swinging forwards, then back to repeat the process. She held onto the sides of the stool, pushing a little so it looked like she was stuck in a shrug. Maybe she was.

"The thing is," she continued, "I didn't know what else to do. It was natural; I finished school, college comes next. It doesn't really matter what you do, just having a degree is all that matters. It was what was expected of me. I didn't want a job; I still don't. I don't know what I want to do, ultimately, I mean."

She looked up again with a sigh and relaxed her shoulders, letting herself down. "Can't I just be young forever and not have to worry about stuff? Can't I just…?" She shook her head and dropped the sentence with a rueful smile. "No," she said, looking to the side. "No, I wouldn't want that. Not really. It would be easy, but I'm not saying I want an easy life. Just less difficult. Less draining."

She stood and walked to her window, looking out at the crescent moon. She folded her arms, hugging them tightly and rubbing her upper arms against a coldness within. "Sometimes I think it's something of a curse, being like this. Having a creative mind that just wants to play and not work. It keeps on escaping and running free, and it feels so much better to let it. And then I have to do a project and sit down and rein it in, force it to work and by the end I feel so… empty." She reached up a hand to trace the moon against the glass. "Everything feels empty now." Her gaze dropped and she turned back to the centre of the room.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore, where I'm going… I don't know what I want, and I'm tired of it, of all of it." She shifted her feet slightly.

"So I was wondering, if it's not too late… Is your offer still open?" She lifted her eyes up slowly to the other occupant of the room. He had not said a word in all the time he had been there; just watched her. Now, as her eyes met his, not knowing just how vulnerable she looked, exposed and open with nothing left to lose, he still said nothing. After a long moment, he twisted his hand, a crystal appearing, and with an unreadable smile, he stretched it out towards her.

Sarah looked at him; looked deep into those eyes then looked at the crystal.

It could all be so easy…

Born from a night of ranting dissatisfaction. Sorry it's so short, but I hope you enjoy anyway.

And before you ask; why don't you tell me what you think happens?