Fair Maiden

I’m kind of confused by the search keywords that people use to find my blog. I’m not exactly sure how it works, because the keywords that are used are words or phrases that aren’t actually in my blog. Of course, there’s the obligatory “the ink from my fingertips” and “invisiblepinkink”, but there’s also ones like “and then moved onto green” and “was the fair maiden”, along with other random fragments of sentences. What? “Was the fair maiden”? I have never talked about that. That doesn’t even make sense, it’s not even a full sentence. I don’t think I’ve even had the word “maiden” in any of my posts. Maybe I’ll write a generic sketch about this “fair maiden” who pines for her prince charming. Or pines for the open “green” plains. I don’t know what I’m talking about.

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                “Fair” is what the world called her, “deathly pale” is what she regarded herself as. Really, she got little to no sunlight; the world was trying to preserve her most “delicate and fragile beauty.” They didn’t want their most “treasured and lovely princess” to be out in the oh-so-dangerous world. She wrinkled her nose. Yeah right, “fair and delicate”. It was more like they’re trying to keep her locked up. It’s not like she was made of paper. She was as healthy and strong as any other girl, and she wanted nothing more than to run outside and feel the sun on her skin, the wind in her hair, the soft earth beneath her bare feet! But no, that would be “unrefined.” So what if she trips and falls? It’s not like bruises don’t heal, it’s not like a grass stain can’t be washed out. She was nobility – really, she could just buy a new dress. She pouted, shaping her pink lips into a cute moue. She’d tried everything – asking, begging, pleading, using her authority, using her feminine wiles, running away, sneaking out – and nothing worked. She was always at the center of attention; even if she tried she couldn’t become unnoticed. She flopped onto a chair in a highly ungraceful and unsophisticated manner, causing her nurse to frown at the pretty girl from the rocking chair she was sitting at. Like the sulking child she was, the girl stuck out her tongue at the woman, and turned to the window. Huffing an indignant and annoyed breath, she continued to sulk at the landscape, wanting nothing more than to join the glorious beauty outside.

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                There we go. Fair maiden, all wrapped up in a post. I feel like this is a teenager full of rebellion and whatever. Silliness!

                Oh, and because I said I would, I will mention yet another blog: he is wonderful! I love his writing, it’s very well done. I’m surprised that the people who speak the least in real life are actually fabulous at expressing themselves in writing. The irony.

                Okay, and just to continue with my picture trend – here is a picture of GD with his puppy. It’s quite adorable… but the puppy is kind of wrinkled and looks strange… Oh well. It’s still adorable and they are both peacefully asleep.

Flashback

Rose Emily sat at the little vanity table in the corner of her bedroom next to a window that faced the beach.  She ran her perfectly manicured nails across the smooth ivory-white surface of the counter. She sat up straight in the matching ivory chair with plush plum velvet and leaned toward the mirror. Expensive, fashionable bottles of cosmetics lined the edges of her desk, all placed neatly in order. Narrowing her eyes, she scrutinized every centimeter of her skin, every pore, every potential blemish, every possible freckle. Heaving a sigh, she pulled the little extendible magnifying mirror close to her face, and began the ritual of poking and prodding at herself until there wasn’t a single hair out of place.

She delicately pulled out a pair of shiny silver tweezers with rose embellishment carved into the grips from the wooden drawer. Her hands curved around the ice-cold iron-wrought handle, and felt the freezing sensation creep into her body. She noticed a rather thick black hair around her eyelid, and fastened the metal instrument on them. After a fierce tug, the ugly blemish came out, and she returned to observing her face. Suddenly, she noticed a little droplet of blood welling from where the hair used to be. Frowning at this turn of events, she took a cotton puff and gently pressed it to her brow. As she wiped off the remnants of the blood, she was distinctly struck by a sense of déjà -vu, from back when she was many years younger…

***

A popular love song was playing through the speakers of her white stereo system as Rose looked at herself through a portable mirror standing on her desk. She had a wide array of makeup that she had just gotten from the local drugstore. She looked at her face and tried to smile cutely. No, not good enough! She shook her head, and began the task of learning how to become attractive… all for the sake of that boy. He’s so beautiful! She giggled happily just thinking of him. Rose was head over heels in love for the very first time at the young age of sixteen. She looked at her face, and didn’t really notice anything. She already had sharp features and a head of flowing blonde locks, but mostly just looked plain in her opinion. She stared into the mirror and suddenly her eyebrows seemed to be ridiculously thick, like creeping sand-colored caterpillars. She rummaged around her desk for a pair of tweezers, and began plucking. With the first jerking movement, her eyes filled up with tears. She looked through a watery scape to notice the crimson bead welling from where she plucked the hair. Wincing in pain, she grabbed a tissue and dabbed it away. Why must this be so painful? She breathed in and out. No, I must continue. And so, Rose sat painstakingly there for hours shaping and perfecting her face, all for this boy…

Weeks went by as he paid no attention to her. She blossomed from a bud into a full blown rose, yet he still paid her no attention. More time inched past, as she became more and more frustrated with this lack of development. He wouldn’t even glance at her. Other boys would look and stare, making her flustered and flattered at the same time. But he, the one who was most important to her, he, with the piercing green eyes, wouldn’t even give her the time of day, wouldn’t grace his soulful gaze on her. For some reason unknown to Rose Emily, the girls who used to give her supporting advice and company wouldn’t talk to her either anymore. They all shot her murderous glances as she walked through the door, ignoring her when she tried to talk to them.

Heartbroken and frustrated at the world, she threw herself toward the only people that actually gave her company. She smiled and flirted to keep the only human interaction she had, finding that they would bend over backwards to please her. She spun a spell of allurement pulling all those who came close to her deep within the recesses of a lovelorn abyss – all except the one boy she ever cared about, the boy with beautiful emerald eyes.

***

With the last swipe of her brush, she looked at herself. I am beautiful, she whispered at the enchanting figure staring back at her. I am capable, she thought. And I’ll prove it. Just watch me.

Points of View

POV #1:

He leaned against the cushions in the bay window with the curtains half drawn around him. All was still in the house except for the gentle hum of the refrigerator in the next room. He had a rather large and thick hardback book with a red cover and old, worn binding in his lap and a concentrated expression on his face. He ran his hand through his short brown curls, and blew out a frustrated sigh. The book was so boring and difficult to comprehend. His brow scrunched up in utter concentration as he tried yet again to continue the paragraph that made little to no sense, the tiny font not helping anything at all. He glanced out the window, and was mesmerized by the ocean. It was your average cloudy day, but the sea rolled and tumbled with such mysterious grace and power. He wanted to go sailing, to be one with the ocean and ride upon the crests and down to the troughs.  Noticing that he was glancing wistfully outside at the water rather than at his textbook, he groaned again. At this rate, he’d get nothing done! In frustration, he grabbed one of the pillows and threw it into the room, sailing over a couch and landing somewhere behind it.

Instead of hearing the muffled thump that he was expecting from the cushion landing on the hardwood floor, he didn’t hear it land at all. Instead, he heard a muffled and slightly high pitched “ouch”, and a bit of rustling behind the couch.

His senses kicked into overgear. He didn’t make a single noise as he surveyed the room and pinpointed where the noise came from. Was it a burglar? Or a creeper? He silently got to his feet and started padding over to the noise. He held that monotonous and boring textbook in his hand like a weapon, ready to incapacitate the intruder by any means.

Hearing a bit more rustling, there was a sudden movement, a thump, and a flying of feet in the air. He rushed over to see the problem, and was shocked.

“What are you doing here?”

POV #2:

“Hey, are you home?” she called from the front porch of the boringly gray house, but neat and fresh in its paint job. She sulked, knowing that he probably forgot that he needed her to bring some documents for him. Really, the man so absentminded! It really irked her sometime. If she wasn’t completely… interested… in his studies… she would’ve given up on helping him a long time ago. She pushed against the door, and found that it opened easily. Well then, he forgot to lock the door once again. She let herself in, thinking that she would leave the documents on his study table, and be done with the matter. Even if she really wanted to see his face. I mean ask him about his new discoveries, she thought to herself, even more irked that she really allowed that thought to slip into her head.

She snuck into his study, and left the papers with a bright post-it note attached on the space in the middle of his desk. It was like the eye of the storm – papers strewn around it in no particular order, as if thrown randomly, but a random empty space in the middle for him to work in. It was so him that she almost laughed.

Suddenly, she heard a frustrated sigh coming from the next room. Oh, so he’s in his little reading alcove, she thought. She crept over there, and noticed him in the gap between the curtains. His little frustrated expression almost made her giggle, and then she realized the position she was in. she had just broken into his house, and now was staring at him without him noticing through curtains. She ducked behind the couch that was conveniently placed between them, and then cringed. Wow, apparently being a stalker was in her blood. Every reflex and reaction just made her position seem worse and worse. While she was pondering, she heard a frustrated groan, and seconds later was hit by a flying cushion. She squeaked out an “ouch” before clapping her hands to her mouth. She had to get out of there. Now.

She got to a crouching position, and was about to make a mad dash for the door when she stepped on the cushion that was on the floor and fell to the floor with a flailing of limbs and a definitely audible thump.

When she got her bearings back, she saw his face looking at her with surprise and confusion. “What are you doing here,” he asked. She grinned up at him sheepishly, embarrassed to be caught in such a state, and replied, “Just stopping by.”

Assigned Blog Post #5: Girl

Smile sweetly whenever you see him, but don’t forget to flaunt your singleness; flirt with the guys, let your eyes do the talking for you; let them know that you’re very, very single; wear flattering shirts but not like a slut; never give him any more attention than he gives you unlike the desperate girl I know you are inside; be affectionate; give hugs, but don’t be exclusive; wave and be cheery, but not too cheery as to be creepy; gauge his every move but don’t make it obvious unlike the desperate girl I know you are inside; lower your eyelashes and glance at him fleetingly; if you notice him looking at you make sure you look away; be shy but not too shy; be open but not too open; be cute but not too cute; What do you want me to do then? Make up your mind; understand what he needs at that moment and be it; smile at his friends but not too much; don’t make the difference between him and his friends too noticeable unlike the desperate girl I know you are inside; keep your options open; never fall in love; play the carefree spirit; don’t chase him, have him chase you; make sure he’s not just a skirt chaser, and if he is, don’t fall for him unlike the desperate girl I know you are inside; But I don’t chase boys?; be seductive but only in the most innocent way possible; this is how greet him; this is how you greet his friends; this is how you make sure you don’t neglect your friends; this is how you wish him a happy birthday; this is how to hint to him that you want him, but not in the way of a desperate girl I know you are inside; laugh and be happy, even when you’re not; and when he inevitably breaks your heart in the end, remember that I told you to not be that desperate girl I know you are inside.  

Your Smile

That scowl is the bane of my existence. No matter what, no matter how happy you are, you will frown at me. I will see your brilliant smile when you’re with the select few you love and cherish, and try to catch your attention. Say hi. Call your name. Try something witty. Anything, everything! Your grin wavers, and curves into your signature scowl. What do you want? Your stormy eyes glare daggers. I want you to smile at me. I want to see that expression, yes, that one, where your eyes glitter with amusement and you toss your head back in laughter. That bemused expression where you seem to be hiding the secrets of the world in your soul, just waiting to be shared. You always seem so exclusive: you don’t trust easily, and generally hostile toward those who attempt to get near you. For those who have broken down your walls, you keep them near and dear but closely patch the hole from where they entered. I hate that frown! Why won’t you accept me?

                You wait expectantly with your glowering expression as you wait for my next move, while I was lost in my silent speech to you. I hesitate at the caustic words, the angry eyes, but quickly I catch myself. I giggle a bit, and pretend that it was nothing; I just wanted to “bother you”. You roll your emerald eyes and turn your back on me, never once letting go of your frown. I keep smiling, shrug with an indifferent expression, and I go back to whatever I was doing before. Smiles are my armor; betraying pain is a sign of weakness. I focus on spreading my positive expression to my eyes, which are unfortunately clean and transparent windows to my soul; it’s high time to install some blinds. After all, people who laugh carelessly are never looked at too deeply. I can hide, camouflage: those who have the biggest laughs can also hide the darkest secrets.

                Why are you the one that’s making me this way? It seems strange that you of all people would cause me to be like this – you were at the corner of my consciousness, but suddenly you leapt into the spotlight. Almost every second, I watch what you do. I notice your gestures, your habits; your likes, your dislikes (besides me); and all of this as discreetly as possible. Momentary curiosity warped into obsessive desire – I need it, I want it, like an insatiable addiction. You smirk behind your barrier, taunting me with your closeness with those you love. I could turn away, I could fly away with incandescent wings like the transient being I am. I could seek what I want in others; I could search and find the same smile within welcoming arms.

                Maybe it’s the challenge. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s possible to tear down that daunting wall, and the fact that I can’t do it drives me crazy. Maybe it’s just that I want to be special to you, to be exclusive. I like being special; I like warm smiles that greet me everywhere I turn. I will reach out, and spread myself like ivy – gripping onto all surfaces, finding a home within everyone’s hearts. But yours – yours is like poison, no matter how much I try to stay, you kill the tendril that extended within your realm. Green like toxin – those are your eyes, and they kill me. Sharp like a blade – that is your mouth as it tosses out insults that cut into my heart. Strange, curious – I’m attracted like a moth to flame, leading to my own demise.

But, like the vine, I’m stubborn and hard to discourage. So I’ll continue staring; I’ll pry at the concrete with my fingers until one day it comes tumbling down. Just you wait and see, I’ll get your smile someday.