She was NOT ordinary in anyway.  She never had been.  This was NOT the life she had always envisioned for herself.  She didn’t “fit” in the world she somehow found herself trapped in now.  She wanted so very much more.  She was so very much more.  She didn’t even know how it had happened to her . . . her of all people.  She – the unique and unusual, edgy, dark child that ran wild through her imagination creating her own realities in the pictures she painted with her words – awoke from her napping to find she was ensnared by the consequences of her choices.

 
He had once appeared to be the answer to her prayers.  He tempted her with fulfillment; the chance to flee the smallness of her bucolic life and blossom into the wondrous, artistic creature she knew dwelt inside her.  She had romanticized him such that within her illusion he came to represent the realization of her heart’s desire.  His promise, all she thought she ever wanted.  Now, even if she did not acknowledge it, she felt only disappointment when she looked at him.  Now, all he represented was the imprisonment of her soul.

 
She had exercised her gift upon her own consciousness and it worked for a terrible, long time.  He gave her everything he was able, even a child.  He provided the means for her search to fill the emptiness inside her, to find some inner peace and understanding.  He, personally, didn’t understand her, but he allowed her idiosyncrasies and supported her endeavors.  She convinced herself that his loving her was enough.  She had lied to herself and him every time she’d said, “I love you.”

 
He’d been happy simply to bask in her beauty and the charm of her favor such that she chose to bestow him with her presence or attention.  They developed little rituals, demonstrations of affection to act out the parts of loving partners.  Through the years she had, however, grown bored with the repetition and forced manufacture of sensuality.  He came to begrudge in her the very qualities that had once been the allure of her.  Still, neither was willing to be the one to make the break.  He did not wish to release her from her commitment, even though he knew she hated him more each day.  She was too afraid to leave the security of the known to make her way alone.

 
So they each retreated to their chosen distraction . . . he to a box that blasted him with images and noise, releasing him from the need to deal with her anger.  She meddled with media of another nature.  She escaped into the virtual arms of others through the Internet.  She reached out to seduce them one after another with her words.  In that realm she was admired, pursued, even worshiped.  She was an electronic goddess and none she selected had ever resisted.  There, she felt the passion and acceptance missing in her physical world.   There, her spirit flew free; she made those connections to feed her adulterous desires; she was whoever and whatever she wished to be.  There, she hoped one day she’d find a hero to whisk her away from this numbing echo of the reality she was sure awaited her out there . . . somewhere.

 
She was NOT ordinary in anyway.  Never had been.  This was NOT the life she had always envisioned for herself; instead, she had become a soccer mom, a self-proclaimed artist and a virtual whore.

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