Alteration
What makes a person who they are? What could possibly mold an individual, from the wild recess they were as children, to a developed human being? Force them into that form - the person - they were destined to be?
It's something Alice often finds herself thinking about. It teases the edges of her mind even now.
She once thought that an individual - any person - could be the master of their own fate. That they had the power, the ablility, to be in control of who they are meant to be. It was an optimistic thought. That she could be the captian of her own fate. But it never occured to her that something as important as her character, her personality and very structure, was as stretchable as an elastic band.
The thought that a single person - outside of her own being - could possibly afflict a change in her was beyond question. How could another person - beside herself - make any difference? How could someone possibly push her from being any other person than who she wanted to be?
The answer is easy: with a shove.
Something she had previously thought impossibly happened in a flash of her eyes. She became nothing more than a sketchboard. Erased and marked up, she felt altered. Different. Not the same, and never would be.
Because she was altered, beyond recognition. Changed.
It's something Alice often finds herself thinking about. It teases the edges of her mind even now.
She once thought that an individual - any person - could be the master of their own fate. That they had the power, the ablility, to be in control of who they are meant to be. It was an optimistic thought. That she could be the captian of her own fate. But it never occured to her that something as important as her character, her personality and very structure, was as stretchable as an elastic band.
The thought that a single person - outside of her own being - could possibly afflict a change in her was beyond question. How could another person - beside herself - make any difference? How could someone possibly push her from being any other person than who she wanted to be?
The answer is easy: with a shove.
Something she had previously thought impossibly happened in a flash of her eyes. She became nothing more than a sketchboard. Erased and marked up, she felt altered. Different. Not the same, and never would be.
Because she was altered, beyond recognition. Changed.