I was just guessing At numbers and figures Pulling the puzzles apart
Questions of science Science and progress Do not speak as loud as my heart
Tell me you love me Come back and haunt me Oh what a rush to the start
Running in circles Chasing our tails Coming back as we are
Nobody said it was easy It’s such a shame for us to part Nobody said it was easy No one ever said it would be so hard I’m going back to the start -from "The Scientist" by Coldplay
TO CHANGE THE FATE OF ONE INDIVIDUAL IS TO CHANGE THE WORLD. I REMEMBER THAT. SO SHOULD YOU. Death still hadn't turned to face her. "I don't see why we shouldn't change things if it makes the world better," said Susan. HAH. "Are you too scared to change the world?" Death turned. The very sight of his expression made Susan back away. He advanced slowly towards her. His voice, when it came, was a hiss. YOU SAY THAT TO ME? YOU STAND THERE IN YOUR PRETTY DRESS AND SAY THAT TO ME? YOU? YOU PRATTLE ON ABOUT CHANGING THE WORLD? COULD YOU FIND THE COURAGE TO ACCEPT IT? TO KNOW WHAT MUST BE DONE AND DO IT, WHATEVER THE COST? IS THERE ONE HUMAN BEING ANYWHERE WHO KNOWS WHAT DUTY MEANS?
Susan... it wasn't a good name, was it? It wasn't a truly bad name, it wasn't like poor Iodine in the fourth form, or Nigella, a name which meant "oops, we wanted a boy". But it was dull. Susan. Sue. Good old Sue. It was a name that made sandwiches, kept its head in difficult circumstances, and could reliably look after other people's children. It was a name used by no queens or goddesses anywhere. And you couldn't do much even with the spelling. You could turn it into Suzi, and it sounded as though you danced on tables for a living. You could put in a Z and a coule of Ns and an E, but it still looked like a name with extensions built on. It was as bad as Sara, a name that cried out for a prosthetic H.
She could walk through walls when she really had to. She could use a tone of voice that was more like actions than words, that somehow reached inside people and operated all the right switches. And her hair... That had only happened recently, though. It used to be unmanageable, but at around the age of seventeen she found it more or less managed itself. That had lost her several young men. Someone's hair rearranging itself into a new style, the tresses curling around themselves like a nest of kittens, could definately put the crimp on any relationship. She'd been making good progess, though. She could go for days now without feeling anything other than entirely human.
((Susan is from the Discworld series by Terry Pratchett. I make no claim to be her or to have created her. She's a duchess as well as a governess and schoolteacher by trade, and a Death by unwanted genetics. She's sensible, intelligent, and wields a mean fireplace poker.
As for the art, the non-afro (and in my opinion, better) representations of Susan are by ilthit and Tealin. They deserve much love as they are AWESOME artists.
And I probably should mention that I've changed where I'm writing Susan from again. She's now twenty two, as I've moved her past Thief of Time. Whether or not this is actually accurate is anyone's guess. Either way, she's dating Time, so she isn't going to get any older. ;) ))