March 12, 2048

The desk was littered with paper and documents of all sorts, and a young girl flipped through them, her eyebrows furrowed deep in thought. Although they appeared to be so they were no ordinary ones that a kid would have read- there were no capitals, no long essays or homework – however, one could call them somewhat similar – she did study about and for the capital, she read through essays and documents and detailed reports on the Warriors, and her homework was to finish the task that was given to her – needless to say, it was not a good assignment, and she wasn’t happy about it. She was a scribe, and she was not happy about it.

Cara Newman was supposed to, however, do whatever task she had been assigned without complaint, not because she was incapable of doing the others, but because she hadn’t any choice about what she was to do. She had been born a visionary, and so a visionary she would be. Being a Visionary to the elder members of the clan seemed a great achievement and a true fortune, but Cara had so far only caught a glimpse of what this fortune was supposed to be. From what she’d seen in a decade or so of her life, being a Visionary had only granted her the drab task of shuffling through papers on a desk. She hated it.

Cara picked up a pen and scrawled down her work for the day. What she wrote though, did not even faintly match with what she had in mind, not that it ever did. Cara lived a strange existence- the thoughts of her mind never agreed with what she did, and vice-versa. While on the outward she was like the rest, inside her was entirely someone else. She could plot like a snake and execute the plans like an expert. She knew it; She just didn’t know how to show it.

The war between the Visionaries and the Warriors was one that had been going on for a long time. Each time one would appear to be victorious, the other would sweep them off their feet- and not in a good way. Cara had chewed away on many pencil caps, mangling them, before she came to the conclusion that the plans of the Visionaries always lacked one factor- smartness. They had the equipment, they had the brains and they had the ultimate power, yet they did not use it all smartly.

However, even though the Visionaries never discriminated under any category, age being one of them, Cara was never asked for her opinion. In the eyes of the high and mighty, all she was was a lowly scribe. She seethed as she flung her pen onto the desk as the thought came to her and the little cap on its bottom separated from its body, splattering a newly written page with ink. She uttered words that even scribes would rather not write.

The plans that the Visionaries had created, according to Cara, were brutal, which was good, considering that they needed everything and everyone that could potentially destroy the Warriors- the battle had been on and on for years. If only they used the pen and mind more instead of hand and weapon. Literally, though, she thought, I should get to my pen.

Oh well, she thought. Maybe it’ll get better. But she knew this was all everyone had been telling themselves for years. Inside, everyone knew- a plan once ruined can never go back to be as perfect as the original.

She knew things were not going to change themselves – neither her ruined documents nor the bigger scenarios. She would have to do it. It would take time to write the whole thing, read through it for errors, and staple it into groups, but she knew ultimately it would be a good result.

She wondered if she could do the same about the Warriors and Visionaries. Throw all the paper with spilled ink away, and begin a new chapter, with her plan, her plot, her handwriting, it would be her story. If only, she thought. Or perhaps not.

Cara sighed as she put her pen down. It was pointless to think about stuff that was never going to happen. At the end of the day, no matter how much she thought of a plan or something of the sort, all she was going to be was a lowly scribe.

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