The Chaser

"Love isn't finding the perfect person. It's seeing an imperfect person perfectly."

Sam Keen

She adjusted the pair of blacked rimmed rectangular glasses perched on her small nose. The adjustment fixed her half blurred vision. The cords on the music sheet came into focus, guiding her in the art of music making. Shifting, she settled deeper into her spot on the floor, her back against her bed as she faced a window.

The royal purple of her walls screamed out loud against her. The white wall behind the headboard of her bed, which is the first wall seen when walking into the room, was littered with small drawings in black ink, mostly sharpie but some black paint. Her black wood vanity sat on the left wall of her bed. It was cluttered with antique bottles, and pictures covered the edge of the mirror. A black desk with a Toshiba lap top was placed on the same wall as her door. Pictures of the New York City and Paris sky line covered her walls in an artful collage. The famous photo of the famous kiss of World War II hung proudly above her bed.

Softly, she pushed her brown hair behind her ears before running a hand through it. She brought it to her eyes, witnessing how her brown hair expertly blended with the red streaks throughout it to create a mixture of the two that was not quite auburn. She harshly combed it back into place. How she hated her uniquely colored hair. It made people think she dyed it to be noticed. However, it was natural. Nothing fake about it.

Small and dainty fingers caressed the neck of her acoustic guitar before bringing it to rest in her lap. Softly she plucked the strings, tilting her head as if the action alone would lend her a hand in deciding if the instrument was tuned to perfection or not. Chords of music blended together beautifully while combining through the air and into her eager ears.

She smiled softly. Her slightly plump lips stretched into a smile that was full of a soft happiness and innocence. It was one that made her irresistibly cute, or so her friends and family said. But, they didn't count. People like that never did when it comes to compliments of that caliber.

She crossed her legs into the legendary Indian style and adjusted her music sheet. With the soft artificial breeze created by her dark wood ceiling fan, she readied herself to begin. She cleared her throat.

'Big Gulps by Sleeping with Sirens'

Softly, as if she was dealing with a small child, she strummed the cords. This wasn't the first time she had practiced this song. In actuality, she had played it so much that now the sheet was in front of her out of habit not need. She loved this song. She loved this band. They made her insecurities leave, fly out the window in a rush of terror. Taking a breath, she slowly exhaled, breathing out the words in an almost breathless whisper. Her soft grey eyes closed as if in rapture.

"I'm coming home. I'm coming home. I hope that you are there…"

The mother smiled as she heard her daughter singing within the confines of her room. Her daughter had such a beautiful voice. It was a shame no one really heard it. Her daughter could be so shy. It was uncanny.

And she was such a beautiful girl too. Her hair was a mixture of her father's auburn hair and her mother's own brown hair. Her grey eyes had skipped a generation and came from her mother's side of the family. She was slightly above average height with an athletic built. However, she was not overly toned that it was unattractive.

It was her shy nature that detracted people. She was so hard to get to know now, unlike her old outgoing self. It was a fact of life though, that as one grows older one matures into ones true self. Maybe she was just reserved?

Oh Yuki…her mother thought wistfully as she slowly swayed to the wonderful music her daughter masterfully produced. If only she wasn't so shy.

He glared at his brother's car, which stood painfully more extravagant and cool, next to his own black Ferrari. He just always had to one up him. It was in-raging.