#perfectionism

peak horror movie #blackswan haha 🎬

A scene in a classroom. A view from inside.

____________________

You blink sharply, emerging from the thick fog of your own thoughts, and slowly return to reality. Your gaze wanders absently around the classroom — over the tattered posters on the walls, the rows of desks, the faces of your classmates — until it meets the teacher’s intense, piercing stare. Your eyes widen involuntarily, your pupils tremble — you realise that all attention is now fixed on you. There is no irritation or anger in his eyes, only wary attentiveness, as if he is trying to read something behind your mask of indifference.

You hastily straighten up, pushing your chair back sharply — it screeches across the floor, shrill and guilty, as if giving you away completely. You stand up from your desk, mechanically straightening your shirt sleeve as you try to gather your thoughts. Your movements are abrupt and jerky — you’re like a marionette whose strings have become tangled and slackened. Your palms involuntarily clench into fists, then open just as abruptly — you’re trying to look confident, but inside everything is tightening with awkwardness, twisting into a tight knot.

You (hesitating, your voice trembling slightly):

‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I… was listening. Honestly.’

And that’s when you make a mistake. You lift your head to meet the teacher’s gaze — a last-ditch attempt to show that you’re still in the ranks. But under that gaze, as cold and judgemental as a military officer’s at a parade, something inside you snaps and breaks. You feel it physically — as if the threads holding you together in a coherent, human form, at your wrists, in your shoulders, in your neck, hadn’t been pulled tight enough. And now they’re starting to unravel.

You imagine how your voice will break again, how the words will get stuck in your throat, how you’ll finally fall apart right in front of the whole class — not metaphorically. Literally: you’ll turn into a flimsy heap of limbs and confusion. Your skin, smooth and sweaty with tension, begins to feel like porcelain — thin, cold, ready to crack at the slightest awkward movement or a word spoken too loudly. You stand frozen in this silence, which hums in your ears, and feel as though the last threads holding you together are about to snap.

A voice pounds in your temples: ‘Don’t look. Don’t think. Just hold on.’ But there’s nothing left to hold on to. You focus on the teacher again, trying to catch even the slightest hint of what he’s going to do next. At that moment, you hate yourself for your weakness, for this inability to keep up appearances, for finding yourself in the spotlight once more — but no longer as an ordinary pupil, but as the object of silent condemnation, curiosity and a slow, public unravelling.

i am attempting to do some with (almost) only using the references for the rough sketch and i'm trying to come to grips with knowing that they will not all look exactly like the references

mildly struggling

written by; pinksugarcube22 (˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵)

this was written for my creative writing course !

—

Brand new to you

out of the box

Untouched. They’re dull

He’s dull

unusable

but you sharpen

The lead is now

pointed. and perfect

Gentle grasp

at first

to keep him

pointed. and perfect

Now you’re excited

quickly sketching away

writing words for days

Enjoying this

perfectly

pointed pencil

Till you push

too hard

Snap

You stop.

The lead has broken

It caught you off guard

The pencil was perfect

but now

damaged

You can fix him.

So you sharpen

again

It writes well

Not as good as before

yet good enough

to keep trying again & again

Pointed.

not perfect

You pick up where it broke off

Shading what you've created

editing what you wrote

You’re in the groove

it’s gliding somewhat smooth

but something

is off

You stop

because out of nowhere

He snaps

The lead has broken again

but you're not surprised

You expected it this time

He’s done this before

You know what to do

You sharpen it.

But he’s not right

Not how he was the

first time

Not fresh out of the box

Not untouched

but

Very touched

Not pointed

Not perfect

But you continue to sharpen

because you trust

eventually

he will remain

pointed. and perfect

You sharpen

and sharpen

sharpen; until all that is left

is to undo

You don't need to rely on genAI. You can "steal" all by yourself.

It’s a fear of failure

But why are you afraid