this doesn't really make sense.
Athena-centric, just some thoughts I was having.
She wonders when she first became so alone, or when she stopped talking. Between all the forced smiles and friendly grins, the failed heart-to-heart talks with friends that just keep diminishing, she wonders when she first began to freeze up. She can’t pin-point a certain time, but she keeps freezing all the same, growing colder and more distant, further away from everything else, becoming more and more lost with each iced-over heartbeat.
Her thoughts are her constant companion, and her mind constantly narrates everything she does. It’s like reading a novel, a novel with words and phrases you barely understand, but you have the faint feeling that it should speak to you, that you should empathize with the characters beneath all the paragraphs and over-done characterization. Life is like skimming through a book you don’t really want to read, hoping to get the gist of it, hoping you’ll learn enough to pass whatever test you’ll be getting at the end. Studious as ever she tries to annotate the passages, but it falls short and she misses the symbolism, misses the carefully crafted metaphors and themes, loses track of the author’s voice and the moral of the story and she remembers exactly why she dropped Literature, she never could make sense of it.
But she reads stories all the same, stories of people and their fragmented thoughts, their lives told in run-on sentences and captured in little vignettes and scenes, and she hears them speaking in her head when she tries to sleep at night, hears their whispered thoughts in the darkness of her brain. She only ever reads sad stories now, sad stories with tragic endings and damaged characters with broken hearts, and she feels for everyone of them, that layer of ice melting with every sentence, and she always cries in the end. But when the book is closed the storyline falls away, the words burn up and shiver into blackness like singed pages, and all there is left is the faint voices, breezing over her like voices lost in the wind, and there is no her anymore, only a shell echoing with the voice of the sea, no words of its own.
And in the morning she laughs at herself, laughs at her oversensitivity and the concerns of the characters become just that – fragments of a stupid story book, and she forgets their woes and their pretty whisperings and as time goes by she gives up on stories all together, she reads about math and sciences and she loves it, because beautiful as they are they never make her feel, never make her hear voices at night. And she sleeps all the better for it.
She never was ostracized, just alone, and she wonders why it doesn’t bother her half as much as it should when she realizes. And maybe there’s a part of her that will always like being alone. Or perhaps she’s just given in to the fact that there’s no other choice; that she existed on a different plane from everybody else and always would. She’d always be on her own planet all alone, and people would peer at her through microscopes and never figure her out, her and her intelligence, and her air of iciness, and they would give her up as some freak of nature and she’d be alone as she first started out. There is only her and her brain, her thoughts that just surround the space around her and push everyone away. No man’s an island, but she was no man.
i know Athena's best friend is supposed to be Nike, but I always thought that they were close, but Athena has so many thoughts and reflections and things that only make sense to her, sharing them with Nike doesn't always work out. And that always kind of sucks, because your friends are supposed to understand you, so Athena passes it off as her being so odd and out of place no one would never understand her. Yep, that's how I see it. ^_^ I hope that actually made sense, I was feeling kind of incoherent.