My name is Trisha and it's all you need to know to enter my story.
Even my name I've given to you isn't my real one, but in a world of a fantasy I live in, what's real, anyway?
The answer begins with a one, simple thing:
Expresionless is a word that usually doesn't describe enough my attitude to a world. If you're a stranger you'll mostly leave me with an impression that I don't have any kind of feelings that can be reffered to as 'human ones'. It's hard to see me being excited or scared of something. It is possible, but even if that happens, it's caused mostly by some happening in my own imaginary world no one else has entry to. No one would even understand the rules on which this rotten and rusted world goes by.
But if you could ever see it, you would notice my soul which crawls a few feet back behind my body and all it is, it's a fire, consuming and burning everything behind itself.
People I met and who didn't try to get to know me better always said I have no feelings.
I won't react at anything unless I think it's polite to react. Talking is a waste of words. It's hard for me to be in any group of people and a group means even one more person being in a place except me.
You will never see me cry (the exception is a depression or maniacal state when I become 'expressive' to the highest levels of my personality) or laugh really hard. I may smirk viciously as I pass you by on a street, but it doesn't mean I felt anything special to you. I just smirked. It was probably caused by a never-ending train of artistic and dark thoughts going on in my head.
Here comes a point of what's a truly beauty in my rusted world. My system of beliefs or whatever you call it is too chaotic to ever try to explain it for someone from the outside and usually it doesn't make any sense for the others, but for me it is very simple and complex. You don't need to understand this ever-lasting hate and a sick love to my own heart which burns and burns and burns in the invisible flames every each moment of the eternity.
I don't really care if I'm dead or alive. It doesn't make any difference for a person who doesn't really exist. I'm not hurry to die, though, because it's the end of it all and if I had to choose between the flames and the emptiness I'll choose the flames.
Am I able to love?
The truth is, there are the times I am really unable to feel any feelings. I have thoughts, I have my observations, but I don't feel anything particular. In a state like this it's really impossible to break me, I think this is my defensive mechanism which evolved with a time.
If I really need to, I can turn off my emotions like it's just another option in a computer. The things of a past, that would normally hurt a person cannot touch me. That's why my friends who know me usually say I can't give a damn about anything. I really can't. I am unable to really and deeply care about anything unless I'm not on one of my brain's mission.
If I say I care, it's usually me saying it, because I think it's what I should say. It may sound cruel, but it's true.
Some people can call me a monster. Something that isn't even a human.
But I'll let you to see a little bit more of my burning world.
Here I sit, curled and bored, watching the flames licking my heart.
Maybe it is rarely able to feel the feelings, but when it actually does, it explodes with a power that leaves people astonished. My love knows no limits, if I decide to let it out, it spreads around the whole universe, it's endless and oh, so beautiful!
But I'm prepared that people don't need my love to last forever. They may be intrigued with a girl with a cold eyes at first, but later they become simply bored and they leave. I don't care. I can't miss anybody, really, no matter how close we used to be. I miss only one person in my shattered heart of a child, and they're gone long time ago.
I'll leave without saying anything. My story ends with a same thing as it began: