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Thread: Quinne and the infinite hole of realisation

  1. #1
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    Quinne and the infinite hole of realisation

    Quinne gazed at Asher’s sunburnt neck with intensity. The tiny little crevasses that lined it made her want to reach out and touch it. But she never would. It is unlikely Asher would ever look at Quinne. Quinne was not pretty or smart or even had a shiny, effervescent personality. She was the overlookable one, and not in the sense that she was so overlookable you couldn’t help notice how plain she was. She was just average enough that hardly anyone knew she existed apart from her few friends. Quinne sat there pondering over how it was possible that she was inflicted with such an unfortunate state of being. ‘I would almost prefer to be so ugly people had the compulsion to tar and feather me upon sight, or so goddamn stupid people would talk to me just to have a chuckle at how goddamn stupid I was’. But no. This was not the case for Quinne, who sat wedged between an obese Christian girl who tried to wear makeup very natural looking so you couldn’t tell she wasn’t wearing any (this made Quinne feel slightly ill for some reason) and the heavily made up tarty blonde who’s tan-stained boobs were perpertually being cut into by the desk, which had to do with the fact that she always had her manky chin pressed upon the tabletop in either confusion or sleepiness from skanking around town the night before.

    Quinne was 19 and had never been in a relationship with a boy before. Her painful awkwardness and lack of understanding of what it meant to be in a relationship hindered her in attaining this human convention of ‘being with’ another. She felt simultaneously overcome by apathy and neediness when the prospect of a relationship confronted her, thus preventing her from establishing anything that resembled a real relationship for longer than one-and-a-half weeks, two weeks at tops. She would ignore them and forget to return their texts, and then suddenly remember that she wanted to be wanted by them and bombard them with a series of gratuitous calls that would quickly drive them away. She would do this whether she genuinely liked the person or not. The problem was that no one she had gone through this rigmarole with had genuinely liked her. She was always the wishy-washy, second-best option for them, and in their minds she was just a bit of entertainment until something better came along. Something prettier, smarter or with a more vibrant and interesting personality. Quinne was not pretty at all. She was not hideous or anything, but her face was like a blank canvas. She had smallish, dull brown eyes, medium length mousy hair, a thin nose that was a little bit too long and a small mouth with thin lips. She had always regarded her standard of looks as a kind of indication the future selves of her female counterparts at university- when they were mothers who were too busy to wear makeup and their hair lost its bounce and lustre they would be on par with 19 year old Quinne. Quinne wore makeup just to conform to society’s expectations of girls her age, but it didn’t do much. She was not overly troubled by her plainness, although she sometimes she wished it had imbued her with a tenacity or openness that some plain girls have in defiance of their average looks. The only thing Quinne really lamented about her appearance was her body. She could handle being plain and thin- plain and thin girls get lots of boyfriends because they have a pleasing figure yet are not too intimidating because they are facially lacking. They also seem to have better personalities than really pretty girls, for whom a personality seems redundant. Quinne was medium height with a round, plump middle and thinnish legs and arms. She was not ‘fat’ in the grotesque sense of the word, but her figure did not draw any looks. The thing boys especially did not like about Quinne is that she was too human- she did not hide her secret human habits with a resplendent armour of lip gloss and giggles. They could tell that she snuck down to the milkbar to buy a block of chocolate to scoff when she was feeling blue. They could tell she farted while watching telly. They knew she probably dwelled in anxiety whilst sitting cross-legged on her bed at home, or sometimes cried herself to sleep. They could deduce all of this in one glance, and the only thing that rung out in their minds was ‘pathetic’.

    Quinne dragged her feet along the glistening black pavement as she walked home through the city to her mother’s apartment. The desolation of the city was reflected in her pallid, cold face. It bit into her and made her chest ache with a strange loneliness and despair. It was the strangeness of the isolation she felt. She felt like the knowledge of a God carving her bleak path seeped into her skin like the light that drizzled through the unheavenly sprawl of grey clouds above her.

  2. #2
    Phil Captain Pike's Avatar
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    ... and then a new boy showed up on the scene at her school...

    Even though he was really cute he happened to like white and frumpy... [I kept waiting for this... now you can write] I'm sure lots of folks have felt just like Quinne . Of course, we all have something special to offer, we sometimes just don't get in touch with that until later. This could be a story about getting in touch with it, whatever it is. You have captured the angst which I can remember feeling as a young guy. That's what's fun about writing -- you are the creator of the universe! You have the power to make Quinne's life become anything you want.

    Ничего нет лучше для исправления, как прежнее с раскаянием вспомнить.

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