I once knew a girl who judged intentions by outward appearances, and outward appearances by preconceived ideas of people and experiences, experiences which weren't necessarily her own. She would go on a date with you and you'd turn up in brown brogues, her favourite colour of her favourite shoe and by this, she would judge your position and intention in her life, she would connect the dots she had already mapped out for you and though you may not be aware of it, you would occupy her interest and obsession for as long as she could keep up this charade of who you are and what you mean; as long as she could box, package and deliver you to your intended purpose in relation to her, she desired you. She desired you and anyone she may meet or bother with to fulfil a beaten path within her, she desired you not for you, but for what you could achieve in her hunger-game. She consumed the spirits of pets and people and assigned them traits and past lives, destinies and thoughts, secrets and intentions and all sorts. She targeted the open and the weak of mind, the malleable and the ones who doubt or lack solidity and she would tell you exactly who you are and you, craver of whatever you see in her, will agree until the charade she has created, the one you've allowed to be created, shatters and breaks down; until something is taken wrongly or rightly but nonetheless hurtfully. When the curtains fall and the light returns you may realise you were this willing wet clay she moulded, you may realise this and choose to leave, equally as likely you may realise this and choose to stay, depending on your character. The girl I once knew has been sectioned, hardly justifiable despite her personality, for all she had ever done wrong was believe the lies she was told.
- by Victoria Vinet
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