Chapter 1: Vanessa: Who Am I?
Vanessa: Who Am I
I had a shape I was born with. A look that was mine I think. We are all born that way, solid, a person with genetic markers that make us look like our parents solid shape, but no one ever wears there solid form. With just a bit of thinking and the pain of the shifting, one can look beautiful, handsome, striking.
I can see a girl in high heeled black boots with curly blond hair and the angular thin face that most girls think is pretty. The fashion among girls is to look like Marie D'gal the current glamour star extraordinaire. The guys seem to like the athletes more than the glamour stars. A little bit of pain, and one can have muscles like a body builder.
A girl with a pockmarked face and a little bit of baby fat is walking toward me, and I carefully step away from her. The fact that she is in her solid state in public is simply horrifying. At night, home alone, I can maybe understand.
The only thing that doesn't hurt, the only thing that doesn't take concentration to maintain, is the solid shape. Our born shape, and only losers chose to wear their born shapes. I started changing myself when I was four. I didn't like my blond hair, so I made it red. Currently it's black with bright read highlights. I prefer to model my looks of the music stars. Massie Amelda is my favorite musician with her electric violin.
I can see my home up ahead, a square white house with two stories and a perfect, even green lawn. The only thing marking it as different from the other houses on the street is the Salmark City Goblins flag that hangs out front. No one in Haven roots for the Goblins hang ball team except for us. My cheeks heat up, and I wish it wasn't the home I'm heading toward, People would accept me more if I just fit in with everyone else. I'm just glad my mom isn't a solid shape activist.
I open the door and see my dad lounging on the couch in his solid shape. His hair has gray streaks running through it, and wrinkled line his forehead and fan out from his eyes.
Mom peaks out from behind the kitchen door, "How was work today sweetie?"
"Fine." I run upstairs and drop my black faux leather purse on the floor, and let the concentration fade away. Now I am just me, whoever that is. I run a brush through my hair that looks like dead leaves to get out the tangles that develop unseen beneath the shift. A nail catches on my hair and tears. I really need to stop biting my nails at work. No one can tell because I concentrate and pull them back
to perfection each time, but once I take solid shape, the changes show.
I head downstairs hoping dinner is ready. It smells good, maybe steak is on the menu tonight?
"Hey mom, is dinner ready?"
"No sweetie. Its almost ready, a couple seconds and it will be." She smiles and whistles while watching the steak.
I walk over to the living room where the TV is on, and a muscular man that looks like body builder Ryan Richards is talking about the weather. "Vanessa, have you thought about getting your own apartment? You can't live at home forever. We paid for your college, and we love you and all, but you really need to move out of the house."
I would love to get out of the house. I would love to leave my family and go live in a young adult apartment complex, but I can't afford it. Being a failing musician working as a secretary for a recording studio doesn't pay that well. Especially when your tired of music. I never say that to anyone though. Sometimes I try to imagine what I would have done if I had chosen my own path, if I hadn't been determined I wanted fame and fortune like almost every other girl in the world.
But then I imagine not fitting in, and I quickly squash those ideas. I went to college for music. Eventually I will get my big break and rise to stardom. I will get to make my own fashion. I think I want fiery red hair and light brown skin with almond shaped blue eyes. Being beautiful and different is important once you make it big in the music industry.
"Alright guys, dinner's ready." Time to see what disaster my mom cooked for dinner tonight. It was better than having to try and survive on my meager salary.