OPEN //if you wanna play it like a game...//
Mar 29, 2010 14:30:17 GMT -5
Post by Isabelle Amherst on Mar 29, 2010 14:30:17 GMT -5
well, come on, come on, let's play!
"And she shoots, sheee..."
Isabelle, while acting as her own announcer in the otherwise empty gym, tossed the basketball from the free throw line to the hoop. Waiting with eager hopefulness for the victorious sound of a swish, Isabelle closed her eyes; this was the moment when all of her persistence would pay off. Consequently, she was disappointed by the anti-climactic noise of the ball ricocheting off of the backboard and falling right back onto the ground, bouncing a few times, then rolling away.
"... she misses, just like the last billion and five shots, because she's a loser who fails epically at life!" Isabelle finished with a voice of not-so-authentic enthusiasm while going to retrieve the basketball.
The teachers and counselours had all told her that especially in this early stage, she would be inevitibly unsuccessful at preventing her premonitions and that attempting to do so would be futile and would only lead to further paranoia and frustration. Basically, they were saying that she couldn't do anything to change what was already set in stone, and she was extremely stupid for trying.
Psh. She didn't care if so far they had proven to be right, and her efforts to thwart her latest premonition --a vision of her failing gym class because she couldn't shoot a stupid free throw-- had been thus far pointless. Anyone who knew Isabelle could easily tell you that the fastest, most foolproof way to make Isabelle do something was to tell her that she couldn't or shouldn't. Without fail, she would always set her mind to prove the person wrong.
That very attitude of stubborness, backwardness, and defiance had fuelled her insistence on standing in that gym until she got the shot right, but after about an hour of failures, impatience was getting to her.
Having yet again completed the walk of shame to go retrieve the ball and return to the free throw line, Isabelle took another shot and received similar results as the one before. She sighed and gave up, standing there with her hands at her waist.
"Note to self. Scratch 'NBA STAR' off list of possible future careers."
It wasn't Isabelle's fault that she couldn't walk in a straight line, tripped over her own feet, and had less athleticism in her than a squirrel. The doctors said her lack of balance and coordination had somethingto do with her inner ear... or something. She wasn't really listening when they explained it, but there was an explanation, and she took the man's word for it! So the whole make-a-basket-or-you-fail ultimatum was entirely unfair. Unfortunately, her gym teacher didn't really seem to care.
"And she shoots, sheee..."
Isabelle, while acting as her own announcer in the otherwise empty gym, tossed the basketball from the free throw line to the hoop. Waiting with eager hopefulness for the victorious sound of a swish, Isabelle closed her eyes; this was the moment when all of her persistence would pay off. Consequently, she was disappointed by the anti-climactic noise of the ball ricocheting off of the backboard and falling right back onto the ground, bouncing a few times, then rolling away.
"... she misses, just like the last billion and five shots, because she's a loser who fails epically at life!" Isabelle finished with a voice of not-so-authentic enthusiasm while going to retrieve the basketball.
The teachers and counselours had all told her that especially in this early stage, she would be inevitibly unsuccessful at preventing her premonitions and that attempting to do so would be futile and would only lead to further paranoia and frustration. Basically, they were saying that she couldn't do anything to change what was already set in stone, and she was extremely stupid for trying.
Psh. She didn't care if so far they had proven to be right, and her efforts to thwart her latest premonition --a vision of her failing gym class because she couldn't shoot a stupid free throw-- had been thus far pointless. Anyone who knew Isabelle could easily tell you that the fastest, most foolproof way to make Isabelle do something was to tell her that she couldn't or shouldn't. Without fail, she would always set her mind to prove the person wrong.
That very attitude of stubborness, backwardness, and defiance had fuelled her insistence on standing in that gym until she got the shot right, but after about an hour of failures, impatience was getting to her.
Having yet again completed the walk of shame to go retrieve the ball and return to the free throw line, Isabelle took another shot and received similar results as the one before. She sighed and gave up, standing there with her hands at her waist.
"Note to self. Scratch 'NBA STAR' off list of possible future careers."
It wasn't Isabelle's fault that she couldn't walk in a straight line, tripped over her own feet, and had less athleticism in her than a squirrel. The doctors said her lack of balance and coordination had somethingto do with her inner ear... or something. She wasn't really listening when they explained it, but there was an explanation, and she took the man's word for it! So the whole make-a-basket-or-you-fail ultimatum was entirely unfair. Unfortunately, her gym teacher didn't really seem to care.
