A Battle Scarred Warrior
1.
So there was this girl. And she's just a normal girl really.
Okay so maybe not that normal because who sneezes, tears and laughs at the same time?
But still, she was a girl. Like an average girl because she can't be a... boy. She just can't because it goes against the principle of the universe. Its the biggest oxymoron ever if say, she was a boy and you know had the diva-esque ways. So lets just keep her a girl.
So this girl, lets call her... girl. Or let's not call her anything. She's not that important anyway. So this girl walks into this room right? And its not her room. Its not her brother's room. Its not her parent's room. She just walked into the room accidentally. And its not like she searched out for it. The room found her really. Much like Narnia but its not a wardrobe. Its a room. And so, lets start from when the girl sees the room.
So the room has like a door. Just like a whitewashed door with basic panelling. But there are french corners that borders each panel. And this corners right, they're not simple. They're intricate and really beautiful and the girl's afraid to even touch it because how can something so beautiful exist right? But she walks closer anyway and she sees that its not just any french corners, its hand painted and personally carved french corners. The girl flushes at the honour to stand in front of such a magnificent yet insignificant beauty. Because obviously, who admires doors? So she grins. But her shoulders are slumped. See, this girl is indecisive. Or maybe she's just trying to distract herself.
But back to the door. She wants to push it open. But its jammed. and she doesn't dare force her way in right. Because its an incredible door. So she settles herself and just stares at it. She itches to see what's inside though. She's practically jumping out of her skin in curiousity. And then there's music. And seriously, its melodious and haunting and hypnotising. The music was made by... she doesn't guess. Its too beautiful. She just sways to it. And she doesn't think. She sways and she hears it growing louder. And she realises its from behind the door. The harmony and melody and maybe that voice. Its from behind the bautiful french doors. So she doesn't hesitate. She just pushes through. And its a stupid, impulsive thing to do because hello, there might be a murderer and/or rapist in there.
But no. It seems there was no murderer/rapist in there. You see, the girl interrupted something. She interrupted a whole lot of events that were taking place.
There was a father grinning proudly at his son, chest thrown out, during a victory score at a ball game. There was a mother tearing at her daughter's ballet recital. There were parents patting and hugging their child who was grinning broadly back at them certificate in hand. There were two friends with their arms thrown over the other hapzardly, laughing loud and trying to walk straight. There was an old couple, sitting on a bench, watching the setting horizon, and smiling to themselves. There was a small boy, arm buried in his dog, ruffling its fur, squashing his face between the soft rumbles of its tummy. There was a group of boys egging on their running team mate.
You see, the girl interrupted love. Se walked right in on it. And it accepted her. It embraced her. But she felt out of place. She didnt want love.
She wanted to walk out. She really did. The girl felt like slamming the pretty white door behind her. She didnt need love. But the girl also wanted to sit down. She wanted to sit down and maybe cry. Because she was too full. Love took so much out of her. Just being in its presence caused her exhaustion. She wanted to sit, and maybe just fall asleep, dreamless. And she wanted to feel soft hands encasing her. She wanted to feel a body pressed up to her. She wanted someone to whisper "I know what you're doing. And I understand. I'm proud of you anyway."
The girl cried. In that room that never had a wall, the girl sobbed. But she didn't sit down. And slowly, she could see its slightly run down appearance. It was still a beautiful room but she could sense the ending. She could feel the final wall. She knew something had to be done.
So the girl walked out, she took a step out of that slightly bleeding room but she didn't slam the door. She left it ajar. So that boy could play catch with his dog outside. So the two friends could hail a cab. So the family could go out and celebrate. But she also wanted someone to clean up the room. She wanted someone to wach and repaint the walls. To patch up the cracks and to kiss the wounds. She wanted someone to take care of her.
You see, the room; the room with its painted door and white expanse; it's her heart.
Okay so maybe not that normal because who sneezes, tears and laughs at the same time?
But still, she was a girl. Like an average girl because she can't be a... boy. She just can't because it goes against the principle of the universe. Its the biggest oxymoron ever if say, she was a boy and you know had the diva-esque ways. So lets just keep her a girl.
So this girl, lets call her... girl. Or let's not call her anything. She's not that important anyway. So this girl walks into this room right? And its not her room. Its not her brother's room. Its not her parent's room. She just walked into the room accidentally. And its not like she searched out for it. The room found her really. Much like Narnia but its not a wardrobe. Its a room. And so, lets start from when the girl sees the room.
So the room has like a door. Just like a whitewashed door with basic panelling. But there are french corners that borders each panel. And this corners right, they're not simple. They're intricate and really beautiful and the girl's afraid to even touch it because how can something so beautiful exist right? But she walks closer anyway and she sees that its not just any french corners, its hand painted and personally carved french corners. The girl flushes at the honour to stand in front of such a magnificent yet insignificant beauty. Because obviously, who admires doors? So she grins. But her shoulders are slumped. See, this girl is indecisive. Or maybe she's just trying to distract herself.
But back to the door. She wants to push it open. But its jammed. and she doesn't dare force her way in right. Because its an incredible door. So she settles herself and just stares at it. She itches to see what's inside though. She's practically jumping out of her skin in curiousity. And then there's music. And seriously, its melodious and haunting and hypnotising. The music was made by... she doesn't guess. Its too beautiful. She just sways to it. And she doesn't think. She sways and she hears it growing louder. And she realises its from behind the door. The harmony and melody and maybe that voice. Its from behind the bautiful french doors. So she doesn't hesitate. She just pushes through. And its a stupid, impulsive thing to do because hello, there might be a murderer and/or rapist in there.
But no. It seems there was no murderer/rapist in there. You see, the girl interrupted something. She interrupted a whole lot of events that were taking place.
There was a father grinning proudly at his son, chest thrown out, during a victory score at a ball game. There was a mother tearing at her daughter's ballet recital. There were parents patting and hugging their child who was grinning broadly back at them certificate in hand. There were two friends with their arms thrown over the other hapzardly, laughing loud and trying to walk straight. There was an old couple, sitting on a bench, watching the setting horizon, and smiling to themselves. There was a small boy, arm buried in his dog, ruffling its fur, squashing his face between the soft rumbles of its tummy. There was a group of boys egging on their running team mate.
You see, the girl interrupted love. Se walked right in on it. And it accepted her. It embraced her. But she felt out of place. She didnt want love.
She wanted to walk out. She really did. The girl felt like slamming the pretty white door behind her. She didnt need love. But the girl also wanted to sit down. She wanted to sit down and maybe cry. Because she was too full. Love took so much out of her. Just being in its presence caused her exhaustion. She wanted to sit, and maybe just fall asleep, dreamless. And she wanted to feel soft hands encasing her. She wanted to feel a body pressed up to her. She wanted someone to whisper "I know what you're doing. And I understand. I'm proud of you anyway."
The girl cried. In that room that never had a wall, the girl sobbed. But she didn't sit down. And slowly, she could see its slightly run down appearance. It was still a beautiful room but she could sense the ending. She could feel the final wall. She knew something had to be done.
So the girl walked out, she took a step out of that slightly bleeding room but she didn't slam the door. She left it ajar. So that boy could play catch with his dog outside. So the two friends could hail a cab. So the family could go out and celebrate. But she also wanted someone to clean up the room. She wanted someone to wach and repaint the walls. To patch up the cracks and to kiss the wounds. She wanted someone to take care of her.
You see, the room; the room with its painted door and white expanse; it's her heart.