The breakdown of a character in a forever story that
doesn’t end – in case you’re wondering, that’s life. Cruel, mad, and unpredictably
beautiful in all the greatest ways. Too complicated to put on a page,
flickering facets reflecting off different people and constantly changing. The
core, though, remains the same.
– Unless poison blooms like a vengeful rose, or if this
is a fairy tale, a poisoned apple used as a deliberate weapon of murder –
A play of example -
The brother sees her as a confidant, a partner in crime.
But she’s retired, he’s starting to realize. Her steps are becoming thunderous
and known, honesty sharp instead of rolling with lies. So he retreats into his
shell, private while he puts on a show for others. The cheerful clown, loud and
boisterously irritating. The girl, though, knows.
It’s an uncomfortable thought.
The father (Abba) depends on the daughter’s existence.
His son is nothing he wants or expects (old-fashioned to the end, chess and
disinterest in sports deeming the son derogatorily as a ‘nerd’) and the
daughter understands. Understands, but doesn’t approve or agree. She’s the
peacekeeper, harsh in criticism and no longer cowering. There’s a rift between
both males and she shares exasperated looks with her mother in the tense car.
He does know his daughter. But he worries and worries
that she’ll trip off a cliff into rebellion hell, drugs and isolation becoming
her best friends. He compares her too much to other good daughters, though to
be fair, she can be quite oblivious at times. (But still, it’s a silly notion.
She has no interest and is too obscenely stubborn to ever bend. Another fault,
because it means she is only capable of breaking.)
The Umma (Mother) is... complicated.
Astonishingly, she says she loves her daughter even if she
did go past the point of redemption, damn propriety and expectations to hell.
But expectations are still placed, and they are too different from each other. She
loves her Umma, admires her for the competency she lacks and the devotion that
constantly surprises her. (She sometimes feels she doesn’t deserve it. She vows
to love her own children just as much as her Umma did.)
But as stated, they’re different. Her Umma is flighty,
uncompromising, and can be cruel to others she deems as not important. She sees
the world as give or take, every interaction deliberate and equally profitable
on both sides. Their point of caring has always differentiated from each other.
“You care too much.” Umma sounds frustrated and concerned.
“People aren’t kind to those who are kind.”
“I know.” The daughter responds. She’s been betrayed too
many times to not. The cracks in her pillars of understanding people reflect
it, along with her inclination to be alone even if it’s not actually what she
wants. It’s easier to be the one leaving instead of being left behind.
People have price tags tailing them, auctioned off to
whoever has the highest bid (or the greatest need). But all that’s foregone
when the object of desire have their own voice and choices. Sometimes people
forget, wrapped up in their own little worlds thinking others orbit around
them.
Diamonds mirror tiny little reflections of the other diamonds
looking on. Blindness is a given. Human nature is just the same, fissures of
cracks revealing the damage such carelessness can break.
We are not diamonds. We are priceless.
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