The Blurry Heroine

I waited by the computer for hours. And by a quarter past three in the morning, I finally started to get mad. She was late. Really late. Angry, I looked at the clock on my computer. Another 30 minutes had passed. Finally, I turned away from the computer. I wasn’t going to waste my time anymore. If she wasn’t here by now, she probably wasn’t coming.

My bedroom slammed open, nearly causing me to fall out of my chair. She stumbled in, mumbling an apology. She walked to the center of the room, swaying back and forth, her hair long and messy. She clutched her hands in front of her face and moaned. “I’m so sorry I’m late, I just couldn’t come. I couldn’t make myself. It’s too hard to see you like this.”

“You’re really late.” I glared at her. “I’ve been waiting for you for a very long time. What do you mean you couldn’t make yourself? Hard to see me? Are you mad at me for something?” I pointed at the bed. “Take a seat, you’re going to fall over.”

She collapsed on the bed, groaning. “It’s all for nothing! My life as the star is over.”

“You’re blurry!” I stared in amazement. I hadn’t noticed when she’d walked in, but now I could see that her hands and her arms were nearly transparent. She seemed to be disappearing.

“Exactly!” She sobbed. “I woke up this morning and started fading away!” She looked up at me, and her eyes were watery and filmy. “What’s happening to me?”

“I don’t know,” I answered mystified. I had never heard of this happening to anyone before. What could it mean?

She pulled at her hair, running her blurry fingers through the strands. “I’m starting to forget who I am. I, I thought I knew, but now when I think about it, I don’t know anything about myself. I have no personality.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I rolled my eyes. “You have a great personality. You’re brave, kind, and…” I trailed off. What else? “You like adventure and…” I thought harder. “And…” I couldn’t think of anything else.

She stared at me, her blurry hands barely visible anymore. Her eyes were wide with sudden understanding. She lifted a finger and pointed it at me. “You!” She choked on a sob. “It’s you! You’re the reason I’m disappearing! You know nothing about me, you haven’t written a personality for me! It’s your fault!”

“Woah!” I lifted my own hands. “That is not true! I’ve written a great personality for you! You’re very three dimensional and deep.”

She glared at me. “No you haven’t! and no I’m not!” She tore at her hair. “I have no identity!” The tips of her hair suddenly disappeared. Her eyes widened menacingly. “Fix it.”

“Fix what?” I scooted my chair away from her.

“You know exactly what!” She raised her voice. Her legs were turning blurry and she stumbled as she stood up. “Do it now!” She pointed angrily at my computer screen. “Fix me!”

Too afraid to argue with her, I turned to the computer. “Um.” I started to type. “You’re a nice person. You’re brave.” I looked up. She pointed again at the computer and snarled. “Do better than that. We already got that part.”

“Ok.” I thought hard. “I know, you’re adventurous, but also cautious. You care about people, but you’re guarded. You really like spicy food and going to the beach.”

“No I don’t.” She added. “Spicy food makes my eyes water.”

“You’re stubborn.” I added quickly. I went on typing, ideas beginning to flow through my head and onto the screen.

“It’s working!” She squealed. “My hands are coming back!” And they were. Slowly everything that had disappeared was solidifying, becoming real again. I continued to type, adding more features to her personality. And as I wrote, I saw that not only was she coming back, she was growing more vibrant, her features sharpening. She smiled, and now her smile was brilliant.

I smiled back at her. The heroine of my story was no longer blurry. She was defined, and had a real, personality. Her own. She grinned and pulled up a chair beside mine, pointing again at the screen. “Ok, I know who I am. I’m ready to work.”

And now that I knew who she was, it was easier. So we wrote.