Em doesn’t have a story, she doesn’t even really have a past. Not yet anyway. She’s one of the many characters I lug around with me on a day to day basis. I’m not sure why I felt compelled to write her today, without even a tale to weave around her. Though I’m packing her away until I find out exactly where she fits – she can have her few minutes in the spotlight.
Thinking too much. It was the curse of having above average intelligence, or perhaps the ability to see things that weren’t there. To be honest she was never really sure.
The only thing that Em was certain about was the fact that over thinking things only ever got her into trouble. It ruined perfect moments, lost her friends, and prevented her from forming relationships that would go beyond that first initial spark.
Aah, if only she could live carefree and on a whim. She would take that kind of life in a heartbeat. No more worrying about events that were beyond her control. No more obsessing over the tiniest details. It would be sheer and perfect bliss.
Too bad it would never be in the cards for her. Short of a lobotomy there was little chance that her obsessive compulsive analytics would ever fade into the background.
It wasn’t as though she had never tried to turn it off; during that first kiss, that moment that you’re supposed to be able to remember, she didn’t want her own rambling thoughts to be the focus. But they were – breaking it down, determining if it was the right moment, if he really was someone she should be kissing, wondering if she’d brushed her teeth recently enough… when it was over she couldn’t even recall how the shape of his lips fit hers. There wasn’t a chance for a flame to ignite, let alone a spark, she’d been too busy dousing it in a deluge of pointless thoughts.
Em sighed and took a long drag on the cigarette dangling limply between her fingers. The stupidity of it, the risks, how nasty she was going to smell when she walked inside to escape the frigid air, it was all right there in her brain. She ignored it, as she generally did, but even the little cancer-stick was unable to calm her frustration.
Flicking the remnants carelessly on the ground she smashed her heel vengefully into the still glowing embers, feeling a brief moment of satisfaction as they were instantly snuffed out. Then, with a discontented moue, she bent over to pick up the cigarette butt and toss it into the nearest trash can instead. If she’d dared to leave it there she wouldn’t have been able to escape the incessant guilty feeling that would inevitably arise.
Shoving her hands into the deep pockets of her knee length jacket she shuffled off in the general direction of the small train station that dominated this particular section of town. As she walked along the pavement she alternated between stepping on the cracks and attempting to avoid them altogether, wondering the whole while when it was decided that stepping on cracks was unlucky, just who had come to this conclusion, and if it were true, what bad luck she might expect to see in her future.
…Nothing was ever simple.