[A/N: A reader's monologue lovingly named after the title of this fic. A Builder's Soul:]
Building, structure, stability, reliability, and comfort. Things that people look into for a good home. And each person has their own definition of each aspect. But, this isn't very different from how we see people as well.
I loved building things, ever since I was a little girl. Whether it was with Legos, a model kit, or popsicle sticks. I loved making things that were eventually used, appreciated, and possibly lived in.
To make something; put my heart, soul, blood, sweat, and tears into it. To create something that will bring joy to others, where they can build their lives. Live in a beautiful piece of art and build a life, career, and maybe a family.
Every time I want to give up on building, I imagine someone's happy face at the sight of their new home. I allow that to fuel the fire and help me keep moving forward. To strengthen my heart and mind, in order to create a strong and stable piece of art.
But, sometimes a builder's soul becomes weak and frail. They may build for others but not for themselves. What happens if a weak builder builds an unreliable, unstable piece of work?... People will reject it... And when all the builder sees is rejection, they become afraid to create.
Strength was one thing I had that I was quite proud of. Physical strength to create, carry, and help others with. It was a strength I worked hard for and took a long time to build... Who knew something that took you so long to build... could be destroyed so easily?
People became afraid of my strength and shunned it. I wasn't ridiculously strong, just stronger than most people my age. So, why were they afraid?... Why did they hate me so much?... What did I do wrong?
No matter what question I had, I never understood the answer. "Because it's not normal!", people would say... But, what signifies normality?... Is it to be like everyone else; is that what I should become?... But, once they find out about who you really are, they never forget it... And they never let you forget it.
So what I once created that brought joy to others, became tainted and destroyed. My creations and therefore my soul became rejected... Because of strength that I worked so hard to get, so that I could help others.
"Don't listen to those morons. They're just jealous", my aunt would say. But, they weren't jealous... No one wanted to be in my place, not even me. It was hard not to listen if they yelled all the time.
My aunt would tell me to ignore what they said, that none of it was true... But, if enough people say it enough times... It must be true... So was I really a freak? An abomination?... A monster?
When a builder's soul becomes weak and insecure, can it ever become strong again... Can the builder repair their tattered soul?... What if it becomes too much for the builder to handle?... Can anyone help the builder become whole again?