A story to tackle writer's block

An ode to ordinary.

Ever since I picked up my first novel i have always loved reading. my life consisted of school work more studies learning languages of my great grandparent and my parent on the weekend coming home to even more work after my morning weekend classes finished to cooking and cleaning only to have to spend further 3 hours on the kitchen table just going over the work given to me by my teachers.

My life was interesting. And it fit me.

So the first time anyone, let alone my favourite person, my gorgeous aunty, standing at 6 feet tall and radiant like the sun, suggested that I was old enough to be going to the the library. Atleast with supervision.

You can imagine what an escape this world felt like.

I was so excited. it felt like an adventure. i walked around what felt like hours to a child but was really minutes in real time, and settled upon a book, no 3 books, which i consumed pretty quickly. what can I say the selection for kids was incredibly dull. i mean did they want us to grow up stupid.

So I got through the first books pretty quickly. I begged my aunty to take me back and to allow me to read from a more advanced section. I was over stimulated and these books were doing nothing for my mind. My aunty declined my efforts and demanded i read from my age range in the library. They were so dull.

But I was determined. I knew this going to lead to something beautiful. So, slightly disheartened, I soldiered on, read the mediocre library materials dedicated to my age group, and maintained a cool indifference to the hopelessness of my situation.

But when I have had passion for books and escapism.

My love for tall dark handsome man who always seems unattainable. probably because of his obsession with a feminist ideal that always seemed foreign to a young girl of modest means, slightly overweight, and much shorter than what they would find acceptable.

Shockingly, when I learned this I took it quite personally. Maybe because it had felt so personal. It is strange being attacked when your attacker is no where to be seen. Rather someone you chose to invite in. Someone you continually choose to let in. But enough, good sir, i beseech you, good day. For good this time. I leave you at the door. You shall not enter here. Nor shall she. Take your paradise and leave. Be gone with you. I command it.

No, when i met her, I found reality to be a bitch. A narcissistic self-centred ego-maniacal vindictive bitch. An opportunist who always sought my opportunities. My happiness. My success... my life. Like a subtle flame she waited for me in the destitute of her realm to enter mine... and take everything. And like the Viking warrior I know her to be, she did because that is what Viking revenge looks like.

But I'm glad Freya true love was both Baldr and Loki, the best of both atleast, and neither gave too much, nor required anything, but to be offered freely. I'm happy for her. And the rest takes care of its own. In any case, can it get more ordinary than me.

An ode to the ordinary.

Notes appreciated.

Disclaimer: On theme to the challenge not participating due the late submission.