Often there exists a group of people that seem to be nothing like the others of their same species. Although they look, sound, feel, and move the same way as their other human counterparts, within the recesses of their minds, something is different- nothing is like the others.
This group usually has a hard time coping with their abnormality, and, as a result, ends up with little to no human contact outside of everyday encounters. Of course, with no one to relate to, their relationships never seem to work out, and they delve deeper into a label of anti-socialism, which, unless broken, hinders them until passing.
Of course, while some of the group wallows in self-pity and hatred, a select few remain obliviously blissful, taking joy in what they love, while not pausing to even consider opening up to the outside world. While not vehemently opposed to fellow human contact, this personality type seems to not avidly desire or seek it, which sets them apart a great deal from even those from their first subgroup. Furthermore, although their days seem to drift together as one long strand of consciousness, this seems to actually enhance their human experience, rather than make them feel drained.
One such case happens to be 19 year old, university-attending Annette Kiel, who will be the main subject for the remainder of this narrative. Although aware of our presence, Annette has been going about her daily life as usual, which has presently left her squatting in a chair with a curtain draped over her head and part of her back, as she pulls one of the thin blinds covering her window down with her delicate fingers so as to peer outside of her apartment window. From behind she looks like a curious creature crouching on the furniture, but in her mind she seems to feel more like a spy than any particular animal.
Although previously unable to have any deep relationships with them, Annette has proven herself to be utterly fascinated with the human design. She has been documented for hours sitting and watching people pass by on the street below her third-story apartment window, and seems to do so nearly every day.
Scattered around her on her desk and floor are rough sketches and notes about some of the wanderers, but, curiously, on every single picture each defining feature besides the eyes have been left off. There has been no attempt on her part to draw or add any clothing, any colour, or any detailed hair styles; only detail-less bodies and those vibrant, pain-stakingly precise eyes.
All of a sudden Annette stands up, letting the blind go (although it still retains its bent shape because of the constant abuse) before she whips out from behind the curtain and holds her hands clasped in the air, closing her eyes before she tilts her head to the ceiling, and yawns.
For the first time in hours, she speaks to herself, declaring: "I am bored!", before swaying on to her bed and closing her eyes again. Annette stays there for but a moment, before rising again to walk aimlessly from her bedroom into her living room. She stands for a moment, quiet and unmoving.
"I'll go out," she says suddenly, glancing at her shoes across the room, then moving her eyes to her key ring.
And so she does.
Without pausing to consider where she will go or what she will do, she slips on her shoes, grabs her keys and wallet, and exits quickly, not bothering to turn off her lights.
"If I do so, the rest of the apartment won't be able to go about its business!" she says to us, smiling, before shoving her brass key into the door lock and turning it swiftly with a "click!".
Her flat shoes make quiet bumps against the concrete floor of her apartment hall, but instead of ignoring the noise, Annette seems to be making some sort of crude music out of the soft padding. She smiles at her song before jumping into the air and ending it with a loud "THUD!" on to the pavement.
"When I do this," she says to us, "the notes of the music fly up around me and I'm surrounded in them all day." She twirls around once, and continues her way down the hall, offering no more tidbits of offhanded wisdom.
While Annette chooses her destination, it might be noteworthy to mention that, mentally, Annette has nothing wrong with her. Although unorthodox and strange, her behavior is not categorized as any sort of crazy; socially abnormal, yes, but because she is completely aware of her surroundings and her own abnormality, she cannot be classified as insane, legally or otherwise. Often, it seems, she runs into trouble with people accusing her of being autistic, mentally ill, or sometimes even mentally retarded. However, it is important to stress that she is afflicted by none of those conditions- or any other, for that matter.
With that said, we will now rejoin Annette once again, this time as she sits in a busy coffee shop. She has grabbed a small, two-person window table, and is pressing her face against the glass, staring at all the passer-bys once again. She seems so entranced by these strangers, actually, that she is failing to notice the fresh, young waitress standing awkwardly behind her, her notepad and nervous-face presented up front.
"Uhm, m-miss?" the waitress stutters, obviously debating whether or not to touch the enthralled woman before her, or just walk away. She chooses neither and again stutters: "Ex-excuse me, miss...!"
Annette, there is someone behind you. Answer the poor woman!
Annette whips around, staring up at the woman for a moment stonily for a moment before breaking into a wide smile. "Hee hee," she laughs, "I'm ready."
The waitress seems a bit taken aback by Annette's sudden change of emotion, but, like a true professional she hides her surprise and smiles warmly before answering: "What would you like?"
"I," Annette declares proudly to the woman, "would like creamer. In a tea cup, please. With a bit of coffee on the side, too!"
Naturally, the waitress' smile falters a bit.
Of course, anyone would be a bit surprised at such a backwards order.
"Don't... you mean the other way around?" she asks timidly, worried about the state of her customer.
"I mean it like I said it! You see," the stranger woman glances at the other woman's nametag before beginning, "Jessica, I'm not too partial to coffee, actually. But I love creamer, and a bit of coffee to dress my beverage up is acceptable! I need it in a tea cup, though, it feels so much better in a tea cup."
"Yes, miss...," Jessica nods before scribbling shorthanded notes in her cheap notepad and walking off in the direction of the drink bar.
"Thank you!" sings Annette at the waitress' back and smashes her nose against the window once more to try and catch any lingering souls outside of the window.
"You see," she says, presumably to us, her voice muffled by her position, "some of these people won't be seen again for another day! And if I see them that means they were noticed, and it means someone knows about them. It means they aren't by themselves, even if they feel lonely. Isn't that lovely?"
Not waiting for an answer she continues to stare outside, up until she hears Jessica walk slowly up behind her with her creamer.
Once again, Annette whips around to greet her waitress with another excited smile. "Thank you very much!" she exclaims, eyeing her drink happily.
"You're welcome," Jessica says, before putting a bill face down on to Annette's table. "Anything else I can get you?"
"No, that'll be all. Thank you!"
Jessica smiles awkwardly before she turns on her heels and walks off to help another, more normal, customer.
"Now," Annette says to us, "can you imagine ice cold, milky creamer with a thimble amount of scalding coffee?" She dumps the coffee into the creamer and watches the creamer go from snow-white, to tanned, in a matter of seconds. "Well, the coffee is cold now, but look! The creamer got a tan from the sun." She sips at it and smiled into her cup.
Little things like cold creamer tanned with coffee, a familiar creak in an old staircase, frazzled mothers dropping things on the ground and picking them up, and when short-skirt-wearing girls have to duck and cover when the wind blows make Annette very happy.
"They really do!" she comments, smiling once again. "But I hate weddings and I hate moving and I hate winning the lottery because I don't care about big things."
Although we can document Annette as she quietly sips her drink while eyeing the other customers in the coffee shop, for the sake of space, we will summarize that, after finishing her creamer, Annette proceeded to flip her bill over, took out her wallet, and stacked the required 2.07 in coins neatly, before leaving a generous 2.00 tip (in bills) folded carefully beside her piles.
After paying, she stood up and stretched her hands high above her head while yawning, then walked out of the shop, once again stomping out rhythms with her shoes.
"Look at the notes!" she exclaimed, grabbing at air around her in an attempt to catch some of the notes. Oddly enough, however, for a split moment there actually appeared to be small, multi-coloured music notes floating around her, but this has been passed off as being a trick of light.
From that point, Annette continued her day.