Muse (Anne Clemensen)'s Questionnaire

It's just a town that I barely remember the name of. Quiet, but not so remote of a place. I think the town could be quite eerie for newcomers. The residents don't usually outwardly socialize or even leave the house for that matter. I usually stay inside. Speaking of the inside, my home is a bit empty. I don't really remember how and why I got here so I never figured out what to do with all the space. My favorite room has a small purple chair (fit for one person only) and a canvas easel right in front of it. Below are cans upon cans of paint. They're organized by color. I have a fully functioning sink, pristinely clean. My bedroom is just beside the living room. It only has a double sized bed. It was the only thing that could fit. Bathroom is as pristine as the kitchen. I don't have any tables. I eat at my sofa. 

I am an artist. I earn it through art. Not the most famous but I have loyal clients here and there. One of them is that artist next door. To be completely honest, most of my clients are from this town, but I get outside commisions here and there. Art wasn't my first job (that I could remember) per se. I'm pretty. So I worked as a muse/model, whatever they called it. It was nice to get paid by doing nothing much relevant. However, their portrayals of me were unsatisfactory. I tried drawing after that. Since, I don't have that much of an income, I spend my money wisely. Art supplies. It's an investment. I can live without eating for a day, anyways.

I want to redesign the world. Everything is so dull. So disproportionate. So (no offence) ugly. I shiver in disgust by the sight of the things people consider beautiful. Don't get me wrong. People say I'm beautiful, but I don't loathe myself. Infact, the world should try to be at my level. A beauty like me? In such a horrendously displeasing world like this? I feel as though I was born wrong. That I wasn't meant to be here. I was meant to be something else. Something greater. Something beautiful. I like to modify. I've done it quite a few times whenever something fell short of expectations. Killing wouldn't be such a bad option either. It is after all, living beings I find one of the most awry to lay my eyes upon. If it means they can become beauty, then life is of no importance.

My first memory. I think I would have been a normal human had it not been for that. Oh? You don't understand? Right. 

It was May 27, I think? I just woke up without memories. Anything childhood, adolescence, what I was doing before. Gone. Got lost in obscurity when I opened my eyes. I figured out who I was from observing around me. An orphan. A newcomer from another place (who knows where). It felt as though I was looking at someone else's life. When I look in the mirror, I feel like something is wrong. Like I'm not me at all. But I know I am me, for I remember some things vaguely (if you could call the feeling of familiarity and recognition remembrance). The past "me" was human. So human. A humanity that seemed dormant once I lost my memories. Maybe this is a trauma response from losing my memories. Detachment.  It wouldn't make such a bad story.