Avant-Garde

She went down one step.

The nameless girl had never really felt as though she fit in anywhere. It was difficult to fit in to something specific when her whole life was rather UnSPecific. Sometimes she had expectations of what she wanted to be, but everything she sometimes desired was just too conventional. She wanted to be 

avant-garde.

Normality was outdated. She wanted to look at life the way she interpreted abstract paintings-without a specific picture or message in mind. She climbed another step. Now she was getting somewhere.

She thought about the steps she was climbing. They each told their own story, each had a different amount of wear-and-tear, and each was unique. It's own little building block to something bigger and better. They all played a part in the magnificence of the completed staircase.

 But what was the point? Did each step tell its own story? And how did it find its story?

What good was avant-garde if you couldn't come up with your area of avant-garde on your own? Nameless girl stood still on step #2. 

Then it came to her. Or rather, she arrived at it all on her own. She took another step up. She would continue NOT looking for it. For in life, is it not always common to come across it when you least expect it?

She would head towards a corner, and if she didn't discover what she was looking for then, she would choose a different corner.

SHE WOULD TAKE WHAT SHE COULD GET.