Chapter 1: CHAPTER 1
"....I do", she said and they lived happily ever after.
Why do all endings have to be so cliche?! I don't see a pinch of realism in these fictional romance novels. The starting is happily normal, the ending is too and has just a tiny ounce of contreversial issues in between which doesn't fail to go resolved at the very ending. What is love anyways? Something which I have never experienced and don't plan to either. I'm probably gonna quit with these romance novels which I just sorta started reading, without being able to analyse or desipher the concept because this world has a rather alternate definition of 'love'. Happy endings might probably happen in an alternate phase of human life, or should I say... an alternate phase of non-human existence. But I don't think I'm anywhere in a place to judge these fluctuating human emotions for I have absolutely none of them and I'm distinctly pleasured to be so. I know, I'm sixteen and this is the teenage phase of life where people more likely tend to go through emotional intercourse and willingly or not seek to establish stable anchorings for their consistent or more likely inconsistent feelings and biased love.
"Cassandra!", my mom calls out. My opinion on her? Let's say it is sorta addled. Yes, she has sacrificed a lot for me and she deserves to be rewarded with all my love. I did try, to love her I mean, but the problem is how can I give any when I lack it. She loves me to death, at least that's what she says, although I don't know because I lack the ability to interpret emotions. According to some, it is an obvious manifestation that a mother loves her child so I find no harm in believing it, but my feeling just dont reflect that of hers. Those non existing feelings of mine. I tried to conceive some love but eventually ended up being looked upon as a cybork by some, resulting in me forsaking those futile efforts.
I lazily get off my bed and go to freshen up. I look at my reflection in the mirror. She looks just like me- the same wavy chestnut coloured hair, emerald green deepest eyes, arching eyebrows with long eyelashes, bow-shaped lips and slightly blushy cheeks. According to my mom, I'm beautiful, but I beg to differ. I don't think I'm ugly but I don't think I'm pretty either. I remember a few of my friends used to call me pretty and a few guys trying to ask me out and all but I just can't decipher beauty I guess. I don't really have any friends now because socializing is not my thing. There was a time when I used to have friends. Then, I used to just go with the flow, I didn't use to contemplate on internal meanings of love or whatsoever. Eventually I started reading some novels to pass time and that is when I started to try to desipher the wordly internal sensations. Just try. I never succeeded and I ended up not interacting with my living environment unconsciously in an effort to upskill myself to these human sentiments. I'm used to it this way even though I don't try to evolve any feelings anymore.
The girl who I'm looking at in the mirror looks same like me in all physical aspects, but I feel as though we are not totally alike on the inside. Her eyes show some kind of feelings which are moulding on the internal core convincing some type of emotional sensation. Feelings which I never had and which I still fail to interpret. There are some sensitive emotions which she struggles to suppress and conceal. A small quantity of these unknown sentiments are unconciously being reflected through her eyes.
I have been devoid of all emotions as soon my father left me and my mom three years ago, not that I had any genuine ones before, although I used to think I did. Later I realized how wrong I was. I can't have any emotions when I can't comprehend them. From then, I kept to myself barely interacting with my social surroundings. This had and still has got my mom all worried about me and thought I was suffering with depression. She even had me consulting a few psychiatrists who just gave a few pills to which I remained neutral throughout. But I'm not in depression. Or am I? I don't know and I don't think I will ever know.
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