He's the one with a warehouse for a mind. There doesn't seem to be an end to its horizon. Thoughts are produced, packaged, and presented to him by the tens of thousands each day. Most are tucked into the back storerooms or thrown out with trash, unoriginal and unloved. But a few are kept in its blooming greenhouse and cultivated with time.
She's the one whose fingers know the keyboard better than human flesh. Every letter's place, every hidden trick and short-cut, she knows them all. Auto-correct is her sworn nemesis, 'add to dictionary' her favourite friend. She spends hours pushing buttons painted with symbols as she weaves them into heartache and joy.
He's the one who hides his dreams behind expectations. In the late nights he closes his door, shutting out one world and entering another. The blinding glow of a white screen is not a midnight movie, but rather a fear bound secret. His mouth says he'll go to university for one thing, yet his heart pleads for another.
She's the girl who's never been good at anything except this. She binds herself to it, defines herself by its success, builds her identity on the title it brings. So when the hate from those she trusts comes in comments, in critiques, in crucifying her story, she crumbles. Hugs her knees to her chest and cries. Thinks she'll never be good enough.
He's the boy who could be successful in anything, but happy in nothing. His reports ooze As and teacher's praise, and he's his parents' pride at dinner parties. But someday he's going to tell them what truly makes him feel alive, and their dreams will shatter like fine china.
She's the girl who seeks what could have gone so wrong. As tears carve permanent grooves into her cheeks, she scours the online abyss for answers. 'Common writing mistakes' 'how to improve bad writing' and 'why am I so horrible at this' plague her search bar. Eyes devour every article as her head bobs, and she realizes where she took a wrong turn.
He's the boy who fears mouthing the truth. He paces back and forth, wears an anxious road into the grey carpet. Cars hum to a stop in the driveway and sparkle with a wealth he wants, but doesn't need. His hand jerks open the door, breath catches in his throat, and his feet lead him to the living room.
She's the girl who pushes back her chair, and smiles. Wipes away the tears. Folds up the hate and leaves it in a closed drawer. Cracks open the journals, pours through ink and stories and people that swept her away the first time, and allows herself to love them once more. Tries again. And again. And again, until she knows the tears mean next time it'll be better.
He's the boy who faces those who he fears, and speaks. Their faces fall, but he keeps talking, letting his gut and heart spill out for them to embrace, or step on. He finishes. Then even as one fights showing utter disappointment, the other smiles and pulls him into a hug. It's new for them, raw for him. But he'll keep going, because he knows that with the secret out the only thing he can fear is himself.
She, he, the one, the girl, the boy. Who are they?
Hello everyone! Thanks for joining me today with this unusual post. I had a thought in my mind last night, and when I started typing, it turned into this small two-sided story. It's not overly edited, I haven't spent hours examining every word, because I wanted to share my real thoughts and ideas with all of you. I hope you enjoyed it!
What are your thoughts on 'Who Are They?' Can you connect with any of the characters or their struggles? How is your writing going?
Let me know in the comments, and have a wonderful day! <3