Talysmana Contest Entry 2

by *Anima-Lux-Artifex

For those who know me, I'm sure you've realized that I'm not the type to go around handing out my emotions, poorly scribbled out on index cards because, oh, I just couldn't keep my shaking hand straight because I'm just so terribly devastated about my "oh-so-horrible teenage life!"
( *falls over dramatically* )

Yeah, I've been through a hell of a lot, but I'm not the kind who wishes to put on a show for everyone to see. I don't want anyone gathering around me and cooing on about how bad sorry they are for me. Feh! No, I'm too proud to let my troubles slow me down. I'm the kind of person that doesn't want any attention at all. Period. Especially when it has to do with pity. Strong people don't need that.

What? Is that weird?

You see the same old baggy clothes, sweatshirt, tied back hair, and hunched over appearance and you say "There's that quiet girl." That is, if you were to notice me at all; if you were to give me more than a passing glance.  

I am known as "Quiet Girl."

I am the one that everyone whispers about only once, saying only a quick, "she never speaks," to her friend. "I wonder why." I am the one that makes teachers say, "I am going to hear your voice by the end of the semester," as if it's some personal goal of theirs'. I even trick some of them into telling me that I'm one of the only "good" ones in a class full of cheerful, talkative people.

Ha! Funny how much silence can accomplish.

Funny how quickly it deceives its receivers.

To all but a select few, I am the one who tricks the world into thinking I don't actually exist--that I am nothing more than a passing waste of space you'll never see again. You know, I'm perfectly fine with that. You could wonder all day about why I'm so reserved. You could ask me "Why? What have you to hide from the world?" But I won't tell you anything. You might think I have nothing to hide because you think the "I" that you see is the real me in all its introverted glory. You aren't aware that the only reason you have to ask in the first place is because I have a lot to hide.

That's right, you've all been fooled.  

I do have a true self; an outgoing, loud, confident self that stands up fervently for what she believes in. I hide it from the world because it's proven to be harsh for little to no reason other than that it doesn't approve of my "odd" behavior.

But fear not! For my true self is still here. It lives on without strings in my imagination as its own character. It dances to its own tune with little to no regard for the silly rules and constrictions of our modern society. My true self is not one entity either. It's split into many, each housing one of my key traits. To entertain myself, I've built a character around each of these aspects, and then painted a world for them to play in inside my mind. That world is Cael, and those characters' main traits become painfully apparent as they interact with each other and stumble along the life I've created for them. I watch as they overcome the challenges I throw at them.

At this point, the average person would ask, "What purpose could that possibly serve? Besides making your hidden insanity more apparent than it ever was before?"

Insane? Perhaps. Ingenious? I'd like to think so.

Yes, that wonderful place called Cael, a name meaning "victorious people," a twisted medieval world...That is where I work out my life's problems: by myself, in my room, deep inside of my head.  And I love it. It's helped me through hard times, and the imaginary (for now) realm has grown more and more detailed as I've grown. It's grown with me, and so have it's inhabitants. It has become as much a part of my being as the scars on my arms. And I soon hope to share it's story with the world through a trilogy I'm currently writing.

Because of the beautiful mind I was given by birth, I realized I don't need any real persons half-assed sympathy. I don't need to throw money at a therapist for advice. Everything always works out in time.  If you want to call it unhealthy, be my guest. I'm crazy, right down to my bones. But I'm only as crazy as you (yes, you).

Speaking of bones....I love 'em! Have I mentioned that? I have a nice collection of animal leftovers in my bedroom. Feathers, crystals, fossils, teeth and claws--basically anything from nature that catches my fancy.

Some call it strange and disgusting.

I call it sacred.

I'm not sure what it is: the fact that they're the hollowed, lifeless remains of something once living; or that somewhere deep inside of me, I want to believe that those bones and seemingly lifeless objects still house the essence of the creature that owned it. It's quite a childish notion to some. But I love the idea. I love nature and all it's beauty.

I show this love to the world only through my wearing of clawed necklaces and many charms depicting my beloved animal totems. I always have a necklace on, oftentimes several at once. It's a way to express myself without the requirement of me having to actually say anything. Ah, how lazy of me. It works after a while, it really does. The one I wear every day without fail is the slender, hooked claw of a badger. It's like a protection talisman. I never leave home without it.

Now, don't make a mistake here, as I'm certainly not the superstitious type.

I'm more of the overactive-imagination-causes-hallucinations type.

Don't get the two mixed up. Please. You'll upset the menagerie of spirits that follow me wherever I go. Hmm? What was that? I hope you're not jealous that the voices only talk to me.

Cheese Crimplebutters!
...Sorry, I can be random at times.

Where was I? Ah, yes, to this day the fanatical muses of my mind nearly always come out as scribbles on a page. Sometimes they're words. Sometimes they're pictures or photographs. Other times it's a sculpture, or even metal and woodwork. Occasionally, they even come out as music notes. Whatever it is, when I'm inspired, I'll do anything to get the ideas out into the world. I don't like being greedy. I don't want to keep my creativity all to myself, that's no fun at all!

All I know in the end is that the undeniable urge to express myself is always there, always throwing rocks at my (already cracked) window until I can't stand it any longer and cave. I shove that pointy piece of graphite onto a flat piece of processed wood and drag it with all that is me. Alexa.