Another Character Prose Thingy.

More babble from one of my characters. Much of this came into my head when I was in Paris, and is one of the people who appears later in the story.

Versatility, I’ve always preached, is the purest last resort of our kind. It’s the one way we get to keep evading all those little labels and charts and explanations that keep being thrown at us by the people who really (think they) want to be in the know. I’ve always thought it was rather crucial to have some secrets left, and my definition of secret is much narrower than most. Live with people who can look inside your mind for more than a few days and you find yourself realising that things are never secret when you know them. The only way they can really be hidden is if nobody knows them at all. That’s why it’s really ever so essential to diversify. Not so that you can do more things, get more jobs, manipulate the world to your liking, but so that you can surprise yourself. The highest beauty is unexpected. Do things not even you could have predicted of yourself, and that’s when you transcend.
Then again, having other outlets is positive in other ways too. Healthy. I’ve watched those with only the one channel, forcing the entire of reality through one little crack in souls clear but cold, hard and sharp like diamonds. Or glass, more accurately. Spiderweb cracks grow, but you can’t predict them and there’s always a risk of the whole thing shattering under the pressure.
I think he’s making progress, my love. He still has that chart pinned to his wall, but now it is on a dart board. I’ve seen him throwing the darts, inscribed with little symbols he’s not told me the meanings of, casting them with his eyes closed and never missing. Interesting indeed. Two branches now, maybe more if he’s dabbling in fortunes. There are images of the arcana floating in his mind when I sneak a glance in there.
The third branch made me smile, he left the proof of his divergence on my pillow the last time he left with the dawn light. Lying awake next to me, doing origami without touching the paper. Teasing the forms beyond what can be done with folding, changes to substance he knows I’ll pick up on. He left it with me and was gone before I was awake, with just a note to say he had work to do, in that disjointed scrawl he calls handwriting. He made me a flower, with long fine petals like a daisy but thorns like a rose. A child’s idea of a flower, and very sweet for it. It sits on my desk and as proof he is not as brittle and untouchable as he claims to be. Not that I would tell him this, of course. It may be a tiny step, but it’s something. Versatility, progress. A little more hope that I won’t lose him.


3 Responses to “Another Character Prose Thingy.”

  1. c.rooney Says:

    It’s beautiful, especially the latter bit about the flower.

    Is it Vio?

  2. KT Says:

    Thanks, C, and yes, it’s Ms Lanimar.

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