I’ve learned to resent the piercing sound of heels clicking against the floor. Not that there was anything I could do about it, but the irritation you feel when someone obviously wants to be noticed is not something you appreciate, especially if the attention they seek is from you. Unless you do like that. I obviously don’t.
Pretentious is the first word that comes to mind at that sound, but that’s an unnecessary judgment in and of itself. So is attention-seeking or uppity. Maybe it’s just empowerment. Maybe I should just stop thinking about how the sound of heels on a floor makes me feel and die in a hole.
Rebecca Albright was what the community of self-labeled outcast dorks would call run-of-the-mill blonde attention whore and what the other end of the spectrum would call perfection. I’m not saying this as a critique on either party, I’m just stating the findings of intense observation. People like to be put in labeled boxes. I’m not sure if I do yet, but I find it difficult to live in today’s society without one. Think more about this yourself, dear reader.
The reasoning for said observation is simple: curiosity and a desperate search for some form of objectivity. Who am I, a twenty-year-old forensics major, to judge based on interest, especially when I like to crack open skulls in my free time? I have stared death in the face. Believe me when I say it doesn’t judge, nor discriminate. So why should I have any opinions about people at all, if even death itself does not? We as people stare at death’s maw day in and day out, curious but fearful of what it implies. And then one day that maw swallows us whole, no matter the label. I find it increasingly difficult to practice what I preach, however, especially with the intense desire to fit in floods my senses every time I step into a classroom. Unfortunately, recognizing this doesn’t immediately fix it. If I wanted to stop caring about what other people think, I’ll have to condition myself.
Rebecca Albright was a fascinating person. If I have gained a modicum of the ability to objectively analyze, then my findings are as follows:
1. Intense fascination with Black Sabbath. Notable in the tattoo on her ankle. I discovered this listening in on a conversation.
2. She seems to gain genuine satisfaction from people on social media. The showers of praise and attention are from cosplayers. She does not cosplay.
3. Her father is some corporate gazillionaire. Mother won Miss Universe in the 90s.
4. Majors in business. She seems to dislike this. Hypotheses on the reason for this pending due to lack of evidence.
Rebecca Albright went by Becca or Beck and she wore a pair of sky-high heels every day. This brings us back to the stabbing sounds that puncture the air and infiltrate my supposedly soundproof earbuds. They were only five bucks, so that’s on me for being a cheapskate. I try to wipe away those initial hasty judgments of attention-seeker and pretentiousness with a quick swig from my bottle. Apple juice? Interesting.
From what I’ve seen, Rebecca is just another person trying to live in this world. Isn’t everyone? But that’s what makes forensics boring. You open up someone. They’re laying all vulnerable in front of you and you’re able to find out the secrets that they never wanted to be shared. But it’s always something predictable, those secrets. Something that they never needed to hide. That’s the issue with people these days; an inflated sense of self-preservation. Maybe they should make a law against that. I don’t know who deserves to be “they,” though. Certainly not humanity. But then again, certainly not God.
Comments (0)See all