She gazed into the window and saw a reflection of the person she wanted to be: physically flawless, yet untouchable. She raised a hand before her face and scoured it with her eyes, running through the lines which supposedly contained her fate. That her entire life could be mapped out on her body from birth seemed inconceivable, but then, much of the impossible had already happened. Sighing wearily, she slumped down in her chair and closed her eyes.

    Why do I think so much? There are too many questions to be answered in one lifetime, and still I doggedly think and ask and search for answers as if one can be found… She was even thinking now, curses. She shook her head roughly and tried to snap out of her musing state. Lovely weather out, she noted dryly, focusing on the gale raging outside and trying to distract herself. … But strangely enough, some people do like the wind… And I like cold, still weather… What is it, I wonder? Is it genetics that makes us prefer certain conditions, or do we just like the opposite of what we have? Are people never satisfied? Why aren’t we grateful for what we have? … But… maybe what we have isn’t what we need to reach our full poten-GARRRR! Her eyes blazed angrily. Stupid girl, stop thinking…

    She considered the loneliness. Maybe the fact that she didn’t have a healthy social life had something to do with her conversing silently with herself.

    She had many good friends, who were all very dear to her. But she seldom left the house for a few reasons, and she was terrified of phone conversation. She had the Internet, but she was only allowed two hours on weekends to really talk to people. When she did talk, she talked quite a lot, without any structure or thought, and sometimes she was even a little scared of that. She didn’t see her friends nearly as often as she would have liked to, but she was grateful that they remained her friends despite that. Still, she wished she could have them round every now and again.

    The television screamed the news in the next room. Suffering. More suffering. Intense, inhumane, needless suffering. Proceeded by a special report on some lingerie fashion show in the city and a preview from a scantily-clad singer’s new video clip. She shook her head and chuckled. Idiots. Then she remembered that she was part of them.

    I need to calm down before the anger overflows again. She produced a pencil and paper, and started to draw. And write. And sing quietly to herself. Pale, pubescent beasts, roam through the streets, and coffee shops… Their prey gather in herds, in stiff knee-length skirts, and white ankle socks… She smiled. Nothing’s changed… Except maybe the knee-length skirts. They’re generally much, much shorter than that now. Her eyes were starting to water from the intense concentration on her work, and she paused to blink hard and look around the room, wide-eyed, until the double-vision buggered off again.

    When she had transferred the basic form of her idea onto the paper through line and verse, she stopped. Why do I always lose my motivation right when I’m just starting to conquer it all? I was never like that when I was a kid… Was I? … Well, there was that time whe-UUGH. Not again.

    She looked back up at the window. The reflection looked a little tired now, but still perfect. The reflection was all alone, but so, so beautiful. If I were my reflection, would I… could I  be happier? She smiled timidly, and the reflection grinned re-assuringly back at her. Yes…

    At that moment a bird thudded heavily into her window, cracking the glass slightly with the impact and falling down dead on the grass below.

    She looked down at herself, fully intact, then back at the reflection, whose face was now somewhat more crooked than hers. Maybe not.