Sometimes she needed to write so she could forget. She wasn't sure what she was forgetting and it wasn't that she wanted to forget but it was that she didn't want to remember. If she poured enough words onto a page then eventually she would forget the keyboard under her fingers and the letter flashing in front of her eyes and she would see castle and dragons and fairies. Her stories rarely involved monsters or villains or anything bad. She didn't write about pain, or death or hatred. She was trying to avoid those things and if she couldn't avoid them in stories how was she meant to avoid them in reality. Sometimes a girl just needed to lose herself in happiness to remember what it feels like.
It was hard to forget today, even as she tapped away at the keyboard it was more like strikes than her fingers gliding across. Her mind was finding it hard to not remember. It will come she told herself over and over again but as a young boy waltzed himself into her story she almost let something mean slip from his lips. Her fingers hovered, this wasn't right for her today. She knew why, at least she could tell herself that, but it didn't help in making it leave her mind. In a time ago she struggled to accept problems within herself but now when she saw them she accepted them. It didn't help her though, nothing helped her these days and today writing wasn't even on her side
"Maybe I'll make him rape or kill her," she murmured and she saw the girl in her mind crying. She didn't want her character to feel pain, but she wanted it to cry. She wanted to cry.
She knew it was all her fault, every bit of pain and stress in her life, and she knew that crying wouldn't make it better. Already today she had thrown down her things in frustration. Her character, the young girl, was dancing through a land with flowers growing under each foot and the sound of birds in the sky. This young boy was meant to enter and take her away on an adventure to the land of magic but instead he had come and almost looked at her in disgust. He had seen her straggly hair and the plain face and thought that he didn't want to take her anywhere, the only things he could get from her was temporary and it would end in her pain and her tears. He didn't want to fall in love with her.
She wasn't sure what to do in anymore, she could only look at her character and wonder what part of her wanted this in him. Where was this ounce of horridness that was being emitted through him to her peaceful girl that was enjoying the air.
The girl turned around pretended he wasn't there, this young boy that had eyed her with lust instead of love. It was almost like he hated her.
She taped her fingers at the keyboard, hovered them for a moment.
He tapped her on the shoulder. She regretted it and wanted her character to run but her character turned around and looked right into the eyes of his. She couldn't move, she couldn't do anything. Why couldn't she start not remembering?
He would say something but nothing came, there was no need with everything in his eyes.
She realised she was speaking aloud, as if somehow it would make it different, she wasn't there she was in a different world, but she still wasn't not remembering.
He put his hands on young girl's arm and she didn't squirm, too terrified to do anything. Her eyes flicked for a moment to the birds as if they could help but their sounds had stopped and she could no flowers beneath her feet.
Here was this young boy, someone that was meant to be innocent and leading her away on adventures but instead he was only leading her somewhere she didn't want to go. He was leading them both somewhere they didn't want to go.
Her purity had been lost, whether it was the purity of writing or of something else she couldn't be sure; perhaps it was both. He had invaded her mind and her heart, deceiving her with flowers and the songs of adventures. There had been nothing but pain and hatred and the character wondered if death would be better.
Somewhere in the distance was a castle of fairies with dragons overhead but she couldn't see it anymore and the existence of it was fading. There was no more dreams, no more pretending that life could be lived by not remembering. Forgetting wasn't possible.
When her fingers lifted off the keyboard she found she had to swipe water away from her cheeks. She was crying and she knew why but it was too late to do anything about it. Flowers would no longer grow under her feet. All was done for her character and the boy. The young boy that had stepped in so handsome and innocent was already gone and he was never coming back nor ever going away.