Post by alyssia on Jul 29, 2011 16:07:41 GMT -5
Practice makes perfect. Is that not what they all say? You practice and work your butt off to get someone else’s perfect, but do you ever get your own? these words were elegantly placed on Lyssia’s violet journal. The gold ink blending smoothly with the cream pages, the book was worth more than necessary, but it was a gift from her parents. Smiling she placed the gold pen in the book, the crystal’s shimmering in the sunlight of the bright morning. Sunday, was in fact, a lazy day for her. She had nothing to do, and if she had things to do, she didn’t have the willingness to do them. Smiling she let the expensive journal sit on the bare grass, her green eyes clear and relaxed as she picked up the nearby soccer ball.
Walking onto the field her blonde ponytail swung from side to side the a clock’s bell. Her mind whirling with the imagination within, There she is Berlitz guarding the goal. Up comes Bauer, she shoots, and Berlitz blocks! the German girl laughed lightly at that. Her sounds barely audible in the soft carefree air, the day was a bit silent. Not many people were out, a jogger, a rushed adult, maybe even a couple. But it was too early to see the normal field traffic. Which was a relief since Lyssia didn’t enjoy being watched when she fell on her butt, that was if she fell at all. But there was always a chance at falling and embarrassing yourself in front of these strangers, and Lyssia wasn’t one to take chances.
Letting the ball slip out of her hands she watched it hit the cool, cut, green grass. A smile slightly faded on her face she she kicked it down field. Lyssia loved soccer, like just about every European, and she played the sport. Well for a girl, but she was goalie, therefore not really considered the best player. But she didn’t mind, you can’t be good at everything, not like she was, a fail at music, too shy to be class president, bashful to dance at discos, what did she have other than poetry and literature? In her green eyes nothing, she didn’t have the hardship everyone else had to push them forward, she didn’t have the power that the others had to make themselves known. Lyssia was simply a ordinary girl with a extraordinary skill with poetry, not that anyone cared much for it. When was the last time you saw the face of a famous poet on a newspaper or magazine? Do you see the paparazzi chasing them around? No. You don’t here small girl screaming the names of famous poets nor wearing their faces to school. Poets were simply never noticed, not that Lyssia minded. What would life be like always noticed? Would she actually enjoy having her face plastered on some kid’s Monday outfit of schoolbag, surely not, the thought at a normal time sent a shiver down her spine. She preferred not being everywhere at once, but since she was on the soccer field her mind was at peace. Every thought was on the ball ahead of her as she continued her paced run. Never missing a step as she ran down the field towards the large white net, Lyssia, in her own mind was nothing to notice.
Maybe she was more self-conscious and saw the mistakes in herself that others didn’t, or maybe she couldn’t see herself at all. Either way Lyssie was never proud of herself, but she was proud of others. She was proud of her genius father and sister, both in the field of Microbiology, she was proud of her brilliant mother, and her smart brother. Lyssie was proud of the kid next door who could run a mile without feeling breathless and she was proud of the baby down the block who never cried, but Lyssie was never, and this is a emphasis on never, proud of herself. The reasoning behind this was never certain, her mother believes it’s because her nature is kind, her father believes Lyssie just doesn’t feel ready to live up to expectations, but nobody is ever certain why this brilliant girl never sees herself brilliant. Not that many people know she doesn’t see herself in such a way, she tends to act so normal it’s hard to believe she could ever find more than a million things wrong with herself, but she does, and she always will. Dribbling down the field the girl got so wrapped up in her own thoughts she began tumbling. Her hand breaking her fall with a painful halt, and the ball continued to roll away. Blushing with embarrassment she hoped no one saw that. See this is the reason I don’t practice with others… she thought half angry half amused.
Word Count: 806
Tags: OPEN
Notes: Hehe