Distracted

Prologue

Why do people never draw ugly faces? How many drawings have you seen with beautiful girls versus ones with acne covered cheeks, and bird-like eyes? Identical thoughts filled my head as I stared at the face I drew from memory. The eyebrows were arched with purpose, and eyes taking you in welcomingly. I had never drawn an ugly face. Besides your own, my subconscious added spitefully. When I tried to draw myself, I made my face into an angry gremlin, scolding you from within the shallow pencil marks.
I have never been good at art, but it was something to distract me, which is what my life is full of. Never any passions. Nothing to hold onto and claim my own. Just things I was sort-of good at. I liked drawing and painting, but I was only good enough to get an occasional, "Good job!". But that was it.
I had once loved horseback riding. But once my horse threw me off, resulting in a fractured hip, I couldn't see the point in returning to it. I was so scared of my rogue horse, I became a passenger, not a rider.
I liked dance. But I had the flexibility of a 50-year-old man, which meant I could barely do anything. My limbs moved awkwardly, and I hated everyone watching me.
My lack of skills resulted in nothing sticking with me. There was always someone better than me. And I was always in search of a passion, but only got distractions.
I was the person who wasn't amazing at school, but didn't have the want to actually try. Not saying my grades were C's, everyone thought I was smart, but living with a brother/prodigy destined to be a doctor going to a prestigious college meant that my grades weren't good enough.
I had no direction in life. I wanted to travel, but wanted to be safe. I wanted to teach, but didn't want to live in a small town. Could I be an artist? I wasn't good enough to go to art school. And photography wasn't enough to make a living doing.
The only thing I knew for certain, was that I was going to leave the small, New-England town I lived in, if it was the last thing I ever did. I hated the small-ness. Not that I was opposed to small towns. It's just this one was filled with superficial housewives, and judgmental, spoiled teenagers. In fact, almost everyone in town had a small dog from the same breeder. All tiny half-sisters and half-brothers taking small poops everywhere, just waiting for me to step into them.
If there was anything I strived not to be, it was superficial. I hated the way people held each other to standards that made all of us the same person if we met them. We all just aimed to be the same person. But that's not how anything works. There can only be one, "hottest girl", along with one, "hottest guy".
And it sure as hell wasn't me.
I had ears that stuck out like Dumbo, combined with the second-most acne covered face in school, and my curvy hips, I was a middle person who no one payed attention to.
I was never the head-girl in any of the multiple friend groups I had floated through over the years. In each group, I came and left in approximately a year. I never stuck anywhere. All my friends were nothing special to me either. They were all distractions too. They were all there so that I didn't have to eat lunch alone, and partially because my mom begged me to get friends. She hated me being stuck around the house, but I enjoyed it. I read books a lot, and I liked my own company. No superficial people around me. Just me, my room, and books filled with life's I wanted.
I didn't like any guys. Sure, guys in my grade were good-looking. But I didn't trust people enough. As stupid as it sounds, a mini relationship I had in the immature years of 8th grade left me finding faults everywhere, trying to protect myself from a guy I hadn't even officially dated. But he suffocated me all the same. So, I focused more on helping my friends deal with guys, while I lost myself in books.
So I sat there, staring at the face I had drawn. The pretty face, eyes distracting, ears pinned nicely back, and skin perfectly clear, and pined it up next to a picture of mountains. I threw myself onto the bed face-first, and took in the scent of fresh sheets.
I stared at the wall then, thinking of how small I am. How unimportant I am. How I was not as different as I thought I was. I judged people just as much as I hated them for doing.
The thing is, everyone thinks they're different. Somehow they are more complex than all the other girls. But none of us are different. And knowing that left me a whole god-damned bit more sulky.
That was also a distraction, sulking. Thinking about how basic, and uninteresting I was. Everyone said I was wise. But that's just a nice way of saying boring. I never risked anything. I was a partially paranoid person, and I didn't put myself out there. Though I did make friends, I didn't like all of them. I just told myself I did.
Was I depressed? I don't think so. Again, I'm not complex enough to be. I'm not the depressed kind of girl. Though truthfully, I'm not a-kind-of-girl. I'm just Rena. Pronounced like Renee. That's all I am.

A/N: Hi, this is my first story publishing. I hope you like it. <3 -Katy
I also appreciate any tips, support, feedback, comments, rates, likes, hearts, what-ever anything it called. XD