I’m trying my hand at this… I bet it’ll suck considering it’s probably from the wrong pov.
But I did like writing it, it was really interesting to write. I just felt this emotion that I've never felt before when I was writing...
Title: A Sheet Of Paper With Words
Fandom: None
Rating: K+
Warnings: Probably written all wrong…
Summary: What do you want to be when you’re grown up?
You sat down. In the big brown loveseat that was made of fake leather. I clicked my pen open and wrote your name and number down on the appropriate lines,
Name: Ebony Anderson Meeting number: 1
“Where do you want to start?” I asked, most people were forced to tell me about themselves. People straight from rehab were given a much looser leash.
“I’ll start with the basics.” You said as I nodded. Your voice was soft and sweet. It floated softly in the air, the lightness seeming to bounce off the walls in an echo.
“You know my name.” I nodded again as I listened to you, “You know that I came from rehab, but have no idea why.” I did know your name. I did know you had come from rehab. But I didn’t know anything else. Not even your age. “I used to be a cutter. See?”
You showed me your arms. They were lined with pink lines. But yours aren’t like any I’d seen before, they seemed to be in a certain order.
“Ebony.” You said reading them to me.
“You do mine telling me why?” I asked slowly. Curiosity struck me in an odd way, even though I’d seen these type of things multiple times, this time was different. Your name was carved into your arms, five times at least.
“I dunno,” You slacked back into the chair, “My parents were fighting a lot. My sister was always at school. My friends cut themselves too. Just seemed like something I could do to feel closer to them. They aren’t friends anymore.”
Your first two sentences sparked something, “Why don’t you tell me a little more about your family?”
“My mom lives in Chicago. I live with my dad right now. My sister’s in medical school. That’s what my parents want us to do, so she did. I don’t want to do that though.” You were so open. It made me wonder, if you talked so easily about yourself, why had you felt the reason to cut before?
“What do you want to be when you’re grown up?” I asked. You looked to be around seventeen or so. This type of question must be an easy one for you.
But instead, you shrugged and paused for a moment, “There are many things that I want to be.” You paused, looking straight at me for the first time.
I was lost in your eyes. They were different. Smudged with a thick layer of black eyeliner, they were white on the inside, your pupils outlined in a soft blue. They were lovely contacts you had. Your eyes were framed by the bright blonde hair you had that was dyed with black tips.
“I guess want to be somebody who people can depend on.” This caught me off guard, most people had professions when I asked this, “I want to be able to stand on my own two feet. I want to be able to be myself. I want to not be judged by my physical appearance.”
Scene. That’s the first stereotype I could see you in. Then possibly Goth. But you didn’t seem to fit in exactly with any group, it was perfect. You were far too unique to be bound to one group.
“But the most, I want to be somebody I’m proud of.” You stated simply.
The timer buzzed. It had been an hour. I had other clients waiting now. “I will see you next week.” You stood up and left. You didn’t say 'goodbye', you didn’t say 'yeah', you didn’t say anything.
I looked at my notebook.
Name: Ebony Anderson Meeting number: 1
Comments:
Reflection: Much more interesting than a sheet of paper with writing could ever say.
I really liked this.
And I love the point of view.
It was different.
<3
ISH KOOL. I MUST OM NOM NOM THIS THREAD NOW.
OM NOM NOM.