This is an exercise of using strictly emotional diction in order to portray a character’s emotional state. For this assignment, there was no use of tangible details, and thus, the plot is fairly thin. However, the point of the piece is to delve into a character’s mindset and examine the world from their perspective.
I move calmly through the water. It feels as though the newness will never wear off. The rays of light glide through the unfamiliar waters, sharp knives cutting molecules in half and spilling their contents all over the sandbed in tiny flecks of light. I feel as though I will always feel out of place. But for now, I’m stagnant. My anxiety trapped in a constant. A pot of boiling water, bubbling indefinitely. Hours bleed into days and into weeks and I keep bubbling continuously. But I look calm. The water brushes up against me and I turn slightly to feel the gentle push. The resistance makes me feel capable of survival. I wade through the water some more. I am ballet on egg shells. Graceful and unstable.
I swim above all the houses. The windows show those who have found a place and those who have not. What they have in common is that they are settled. They’ve found comfort in their stability or lack thereof. I swim through the houses hopeless. I am a being of two houses. A foot in each means belonging to neither. A home of sand appears. It has no roof. Viewed by everyone, I see him sat, molded into the couch. A perfect fit for the house and the waters. His wide eyes fixate on me, and before I have arrived near his home, he’s detached himself from the couch.
Salutations send waves spiraling towards me. He swims as though the waters were made for him by Him. He is Adam, and that makes me truly see that I am an uncertain stranger who does not belong. I was never written into the story of these waters. The pages of this novel carry his ink perfectly, but mine are forced. I bleed right through the pages. His speech intensifies and I try to push against the waves. But I cannot. My ears hear the furious gushing. You are out of your depth, they snarl. I try to push against it. My pure soft flesh against the sharp currents. I’m a pincushion. My face is placid. I try to mold myself, but I can’t figure it out. I roar on the inside. I stop fighting. Pushed back bruised, broken, dented. My being is tattered cloth drifting without opposition with the push of the water. The current sways me into obscurity. I move calmly through the water.
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