The Curious Dichotomy of Dullness

 The girl had an edge. The trouble was, it took a great deal to find it. It was like rubbing up against a dull knife only to find the one sharp spot with the center of your thumb. She bit. And she was judged for it.

    But she didn't care. She didn't mind mostly being dull. Mostly, because she couldn't have born her edge had it been all of her. She took to honing her edge with the greatest care, and letting the rest of the dullness blanket the rest of her in bits of rust.

    It came in handy with enemies. 

    Seemingly dull people always have enemies. Strangely, jealousy is often involved. Enemies of dull people tend to have anxiety problems, which isn't true for mostly dull people. They wanted her calm. Not that her enemies ever realized what it was about her that tickled their envy.

    The girl used her edge to a purpose. It was designed for precision. It wielded her mind and turned it into a razor. Her enemies were right to unknowingly long for her gift. 

    Because, unlike them, she never once had a dull moment.

    And, unlike them, when the moment was right, she shown.

    

Popular posts from this blog

The Library at the Edge of the Universe

 There was, of course, a library at the edge of the universe. It was built to fit the space. That space, for the moment, was infinite. But it was the kind of infinite that was smaller than other kinds of infinite — both space and libraries are funny that way.     This library had an agenda. Most do. But this one's was more specific than most. It wanted to hold all the books in the universe, whether they liked it or not. And it got the books by poking and prodding the universe in all kinds of different ways, until it gave up the literary ghost. Well, all the literary ghosts.     So. There sat a library at the edge of space that housed all the books in the universe. It mostly sat, anyway. Sometimes it stood. Occasionally it stretched a bit. And on two occasions, yawns were recorded as galaxies doing a funny little seismic shift.     It might yawn again. In an eon or two.     Because it is waiting.     It's been waiting for an infinite amount of time. One of the smaller infinites
Read more

The Shadows

The light shown on Anya’s fingers. It curled around her palm and danced. This, she thought, was the sheer pleasure of having magic.       But in the midst of her play, a shadow grew.   It was not unexpected; it was the cost of doing magic, for it always begot shadows.   But it never ceased to offer discomfort.   If she could find a way to practice her craft and leave behind the adjacent darkness, she would.          Anya was not fond of the dark, or shadows, or of the sense of unease that grew whenever she let the flickering brightness dance.   But, too, there was a feeling of wholeness in her work.   How could that be, such fulfillment when darkness lay about her?   A constant wonder—the weight of it only born by extinguishing the light for a time until she could bear it again.       Today was such a time.          Anya took the light, and threw it at the darkness.   The next breath, and it was gone.   Elimination brought palpable relief, while at the same time she felt the loss of
Read more

The Old Queen and the New One

 Once there was a little girl who wandered into an enchanted forest. That's obvious. Of course she did. How else do you get into an enchanted forest? The interesting part is what happened when she got there. Which was this:     She came upon an unkindness of ravens. They were singing. Naturally it was a dirge. That's the only thing a raven can sing. As it happens, they were the queen's ravens.      Which queen?      The one who ruled over all the enchanted lands. Haven't you heard of her? She's testy. Aged. Bit of a handful, really. Likes her ravens.      The ravens liked the little girl better. They followed her instead. So... that made her queen.     What happened to the other one? The testy one?      Well, this is a fairy tale, so I think you can guess.     But you'd be wrong.      This is a new kind of fairy tale. One of those modern ones. Where the old women aren't nasty, poisonous old crones (well... not always). Where old women have a lovely, motherl
Read more