Her life was one of simple harmonies: straight pictures, even numbers, simple patterns on the wallpaper. If she passed by a drawer that was slightly ajar, she had to bump her hip against it to close it; if a door was open – whether it be a human portal or a simple cupboard entry – she would always have to secure it before moving onto the next room. Sleep was unachievable if one thing was askew, and flighty was her demeanor if she had an uneven amount of Facebook friends.
She never considered herself unusual, but she always caught hints from others when she had to go out of her way to make sure both of her hands received the same amount of washing after a trip to the restroom, or when she spent hours in front of the mirror to make sure the part in her hair was perfectly symmetrical. Because, truly, how could anyone expect her to function when one side of her head was heavier than the other because of uneven hair follicles?
Yet, the one thing that was not perfect was her art. It was full of sharp lines, smooth curves, and a lack of balance in every picture she brought to life. Her characters were dizzying creatures of emotional confusion and her landscapes simply couldn't exist on any physical plane. Her colors were splashed across the paper, crossing boundaries and adding dept to an otherwise flat canvas. She always sketched things she had studied intently before, yet her source material was unrecognizable to anyone beside herself. She was truly a visionary in every sense of the word.
Her music was another thing that defied her nature. Its chords caused constant dissonance with next to no resolution. Constantly, she paired C's with B flats and never changed the latter to an A. The never ending conflict seemed to awaken something in her that nothing else did, however, for she always smiled when a contradictory chord met her ears and her shoulders seemed to relax a few inches. The feeling of the music seemed to reach deep into her soul and the incompatible notes and harmonies seemed to pull the pressure off her need to control everything – a problem she could control.
Because, really, that's all she wanted: control. Control over one's life is a simple joy in life, but most people miss the feeling of it because they have never felt anything out of control.
She had felt things twist out of her control. She had felt the wheel under her hands swing around as an ice patch caused the tires on her small sports car to slide uncontrollably across the bridge. She had felt gravity take hold and remembered vividly the feeling of spinning.
These feelings never went away. Anytime someone touched her, she jumped, feeling the glass digging into her skin once more. When the wind blew into her face, she recalled a rushing bag of air heading for her head. At night, she dreamed of screeching noises, screaming, and police sirens.
But, when she sat with her sketchbook or a blank piece of sheet music in front of her, the blank canvas calmed her mind and made it possible for her to feel alive like she used to.
Because, truly, when you had looked death in the face and turned back, isn't that all you really wanted?