Forgive me as this may not be the best-organized story; let alone follows the rubric. This isn’t exactly a memory, so I hope I do not get marked poorly for this decision. I prefer to tell a tale, even if it has been told many a time. I am no English major like a mother so fair warning.
He is average. Yet feels he isn’t like most people; humans and mortals as he jokingly says. Nor does he think he is a god or divine, never in his life has he thought like that. Only once did he start to believe that he was a prince, gathered his courage to announce his self worth; placing a crown upon his head at a tilt. Unfortunately this did not last as the crown began to look more like a jester hat; its long floppy and decorative top jiggled with the bells tied to the ends.
Tossing it aside he continued to live his average life; greeting those he crossed with a sheepish smile even though most didn’t stay long. It is best to be polite and kind his mother and father always said. Always had to look nice, neatly combed hair, presentable clothing and good grades to talk about. Surprised how every morning he looked in the mirror and didn’t see button eyes or a warranty tag in the reflection. However it never felt like enough.
In the mirror was a large, round, insecure, below average intelligent black sheep. Quite possibly the equivalent to a pauper. If that is what the mirror sees, then that it should be. Even currently he resides as a pauper despite growing up and slimmer; living in fear that he hasn’t done enough, that he has already failed. Failed at what specifically is hard to tell, as it seems to be a new topic ever time. Constantly reminding himself of that silly dream of being a prince as he feels shrouded by his younger sibling who is an ill fitted heir.
That’s malice thinking; he shouldn’t think such things especially about his family or anyone for that matter. Oh, but the expectations and the failure to properly communicate on both ends; they aren’t family unless they don’t back seat drive your anxiety. His second family of those outside his bloodline, his friends, oh how he loves them. Standing besides them like a mother stands next to her young children, holding their hands for fear of what could happen to them. Seeing so many bruises and scars that already liter their bodies; how they are there he doesn’t know, he just wishes to dust the soot and dirt off so they can see the crowns on their own heads.
Enjoying his evening walks he is still confronted with the fact that there is only so much he can do. The world holds too many people; witnessing this fact in the reflection of the moon that he sees on the water’s surface during his walk. Pausing on his walk to stare deeply into the water that was brought by rain, feeling connected to the thought of heavy rainfall, it brings him peace. Born in winter under the two cycling fishes gives him this connection to water and a deeper connection to his emotions.
While depression seems to be the ruling entity, his hope is still very much alive. Flicking softly like a candle that, while doesn’t offer much warmth to many, can still offer light. For you see, he had made his choice; while he wishes for magic and abilities that only come in his dreams, he chose this life. Plucking each newly formed feather like a flower in a field to share; hoping that each new day another will blossom as it tries to regrow the once taintless field of white.
Choosing to stay and enjoy what bonds he’s made with those who had graciously taken from the wings that hide on his back.
A short story written for my Psychology class reflecting the results of the International Personality Item Pool Representation of the NEO PI-R