Character Sketch

I pulled some rocks today and decided to use them to start a character sketch: Here is the result. What can you come up with?

I am impulsive. I’ve always known it (not out of intuition or wisdom… but because my grandmother’s favourite thing to do is scowl at me and tell me I am). I’ve tried not to be. Believe me, I have. My family keep looking at me when they think I’m not paying attention. Studying me to see when I’ll start showing signs of the blessing I’m supposed to be. Apparently while she carried me in her womb, my mother had a vision that the Creator would bless me with wisdom. A way to carry our tribe through the hardship the elders keep seeing in their vision quests when they ask about the future.

But maybe mother forgot to leave that wisdom with me when she died. I sure don’t feel like a blessing. Or that I carry a single iota of wisdom. If I have it, it’s buried deep. Like so deep it’s hidden in some untouched subterranean part of my soul I don’t think I’ll ever manage to dig up. Maybe it’s the very small drop of Scottish blood in me that’s to blame for the impulsiveness. It certainly isn’t from my Dene blood. Grandmother tells me she thinks I’m the reborn soul of her aunt. The one who got banished from the tribe because she refused to choose a man and challenged the elders one too many times.

I can’t even argue with her over it – or at least I try not to let the words that boil around in my head spill out into the air. It may not seem like it to an outsider, but I do have better days when I manage to gulp them back and let them froth around in the back of my throat until I forget about them.

Being impulsive… It’s not on purpose. It’s just hard for me to stop myself and think before I jump into things – whether they’re fights with my grandmother or following an owl too far away from home and then having to spend the night out in the forest. Freezing my toes off. Whenever I come across something unexpected I always think it’ll be fun. When I’m out foraging I get a crazy feeling that there must be a hidden secret around the next tree in the path.

But every single time I give in and follow that impulsive side of me, I end up landing in a whole swamp of difficulty. This isn’t even the least of my troubles, to be honest. What makes it worse is that I’m also stubborn – like so much so, once I’m in that swamp I tend to get right in up to my neck and stay there until I’m rescued by my brother or my grandmother.

I wish I was like my older sister. Hair like a shining black river down her back, always calm, always poised and willing to sink into the background while she works. At peace with her place, creating beautiful woven baskets and the best, most durable snowshoes in the tribe. She’s always getting praised from the elders. She never gets bored with the endless tasks of preparing food and clothes that drive me nuts. Instead my hair is always getting tangled and frizzed up like a cloud around my face from exerting too much energy. My snowshoes break and my baskets aren’t worth mentioning. Seriously. Don’t mention them. Especially not to Gran.

I can’t help it. I’m always trying too hard to live. To find somewhere to breathe. To get rid of the excess of fire I sometimes swear I can feel dancing right along my bones. Sometimes I think my soul will burst right out of my skin if I stop moving. Like it can hardly handle being squished inside this body and just wants to get out.