lost.
For being so central to the town’s construction, George does not receive much recognition. I only remember learning about him when Violet was in elementary school. At the Festival of Light, the annual town celebration, there are no dedication speeches or acknowledgments of his accomplishments. Even this square, which bears his name, makes no tangible mention. I seem to recall hovering under a bronze statue of his form, but it was removed at least a decade ago. Maybe the metallic material just didn’t fit in with the scene.
Now, the center of Lumon Square holds a fountain, shaped like an enormous, angular sun bursting out from the ground. The water flowing through it is the only natural element within viewing distance. The further one gets from Lumon Square, the more earthly elements begin to seep in: the red dirt of the canyon, the prickly cacti, the occasional plot of planted grass struggling to survive in the desert heat. But here, everything is uniformly transparent and bright.
All this light is not reflected on the faces I see before me. It appears I’m not the only one dealing with a certain level of self-loathing today. I watch as a veritable fashion show of extremes passes before me. Some have squeezed themselves into clothing two sizes too small, trying to fit into a mold that will never be, while others take the opposite approach, dressed in oversized, drooping fabrics that do the wearer no favors. Tight or baggy, strained or voluminous: whether they care too much or too little, everyone looks uncomfortable in his or her own skin.
Unfortunately, I know the feeling all too well. I’ve tried on everything in Violet’s closet, but nothing seems to fit this body right. Every piece of clothing pinches and constricts my flesh in unpleasant ways. When I look in the mirror, the Reflection almost mocks my effort to force my body into a more appealing shape. I guess clothes could be used to create a better appearance, but I’ve yet to see any good results. Sometimes I think it would be easier to just wear something loose and flowing. Maybe it wouldn’t make my body look better, but at least it would feel better.
The variance in clothes is not the only bizarre behavior I see. The older citizens sure make pointed efforts to avoid looking at anything made of glass. Many Persons, especially the adults, keep their glance downward, only stopping to look up for traffic signals. Shoulders hunched, hair falling in their faces, men and women plod forward, as if they couldn’t care less if they ever make it to their final destinations. The mirrors are impossible to avoid, but they try as best they can. Some hide behind shiny silver sunglasses, while others actually use their hands to shade their eyes from the glass as they pass by. Some walk in pairs, making conversation, but most are alone, their melancholy thoughts their only companions. Every so often, a child passes by, looking carefree and ready to seize the day, making the adults’ downtrodden expressions all the more apparent.
I can’t believe these are the same streets I’ve been walking through all my life. Following Violet, I always found a walk through town to be exciting and vibrant. All the light, all the sparkle: I never wanted to miss it. But I guess I was so focused on my stuff, I didn’t see struggle all around me. Maybe it’s always been this way, or maybe I’m just projecting my unhappiness on the faces of others. I don’t know. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
I carry the gloom from the streets with me to school. Walking through the entrance to Talline High, I feel like an imposter. Even though I’ve spent the past several years roaming these halls with my Person, I have always been a bystander, not an active participant. Keeping Violet’s outline precise amongst a mass of other Shadows took all my concentration, leaving little time to observe the school’s surroundings or student body. Now, rather than weaving through a
For being so central to the town’s construction, George does not receive much recognition. I only remember learning about him when Violet was in elementary school. At the Festival of Light, the annual town celebration, there are no dedication speeches or acknowledgments of his accomplishments. Even this square, which bears his name, makes no tangible mention. I seem to recall hovering under a bronze statue of his form, but it was removed at least a decade ago. Maybe the metallic material just didn’t fit in with the scene.
Now, the center of Lumon Square holds a fountain, shaped like an enormous, angular sun bursting out from the ground. The water flowing through it is the only natural element within viewing distance. The further one gets from Lumon Square, the more earthly elements begin to seep in: the red dirt of the canyon, the prickly cacti, the occasional plot of planted grass struggling to survive in the desert heat. But here, everything is uniformly transparent and bright.
All this light is not reflected on the faces I see before me. It appears I’m not the only one dealing with a certain level of self-loathing today. I watch as a veritable fashion show of extremes passes before me. Some have squeezed themselves into clothing two sizes too small, trying to fit into a mold that will never be, while others take the opposite approach, dressed in oversized, drooping fabrics that do the wearer no favors. Tight or baggy, strained or voluminous: whether they care too much or too little, everyone looks uncomfortable in his or her own skin.
Unfortunately, I know the feeling all too well. I’ve tried on everything in Violet’s closet, but nothing seems to fit this body right. Every piece of clothing pinches and constricts my flesh in unpleasant ways. When I look in the mirror, the Reflection almost mocks my effort to force my body into a more appealing shape. I guess clothes could be used to create a better appearance, but I’ve yet to see any good results. Sometimes I think it would be easier to just wear something loose and flowing. Maybe it wouldn’t make my body look better, but at least it would feel better.
The variance in clothes is not the only bizarre behavior I see. The older citizens sure make pointed efforts to avoid looking at anything made of glass. Many Persons, especially the adults, keep their glance downward, only stopping to look up for traffic signals. Shoulders hunched, hair falling in their faces, men and women plod forward, as if they couldn’t care less if they ever make it to their final destinations. The mirrors are impossible to avoid, but they try as best they can. Some hide behind shiny silver sunglasses, while others actually use their hands to shade their eyes from the glass as they pass by. Some walk in pairs, making conversation, but most are alone, their melancholy thoughts their only companions. Every so often, a child passes by, looking carefree and ready to seize the day, making the adults’ downtrodden expressions all the more apparent.
I can’t believe these are the same streets I’ve been walking through all my life. Following Violet, I always found a walk through town to be exciting and vibrant. All the light, all the sparkle: I never wanted to miss it. But I guess I was so focused on my stuff, I didn’t see struggle all around me. Maybe it’s always been this way, or maybe I’m just projecting my unhappiness on the faces of others. I don’t know. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
I carry the gloom from the streets with me to school. Walking through the entrance to Talline High, I feel like an imposter. Even though I’ve spent the past several years roaming these halls with my Person, I have always been a bystander, not an active participant. Keeping Violet’s outline precise amongst a mass of other Shadows took all my concentration, leaving little time to observe the school’s surroundings or student body. Now, rather than weaving through a
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