Really bad short story

By the edge of the silhouetted universe a figure sat with its knees surrounded by its arms. In contrast to the reflection in the water, the eyes of the mysterious being seemed stopped, almost dead but not quite so far gone. She seemed like a creation dissatisfied by her attempts to mimic that which made her. In that she also differed from the personified water. The universe could never be forced into the pond feeding into a tumultuous waterfall, but that is what it meant to the character. The dim globes in the sockets of her contemplative head took in everything and slowly tore it apart, without her awareness, reforming it into something completely unrelated apart from that which she had forced to seem a link between the two.

She sat and dreamt of things befitting another worldly creature. Some thought that was what she was. From all that can be seen without prying into mechanisms far too dangerous to be known (or made, which one it is shall never be known) though, see was not. If the world had the eyes she supposed it did, she would have been in trouble. Once upon a star, her mind working in conjunction with a very indescribable set of circumstances had come to believe that all done by her was admirable; that she was the utmost delight to anyone watching.

[If you can not tell, this writing has a strong tone suggesting relevance to perception]

A boy came up to the stranger in the wood sitting down next the the pond leading into a waterfall that could be thought of as an allegory to the universe and all (or a few) of the ways it works.

Observable to none but the birds, who only cared about the two because they could in the future pose as a food source or a danger, the two began an interesting dialouge.

"Excuse me."
"what?"
"why do you sit here and not move all day everyday?"
"What else is there to do?"
"That."
"Excuse me?"
"Just that. I would have you do something."
"I am."
"You are being counter productive, you do nothing of worth and so you do nothing."
"But by doing nothing I would be doing something. You can't actually do nothing."
"You know what I mean."
"I try not to assume."
"Obviously you are failing."
"I never said I succeeded."
"Then what is the point of trying?"
"Whats the use in not? I apply effort when it would seem worthy enough."
"Worthy? You are no god."
"We are all co-creators of our own world."
"WHY ARE YOU NOT DOING A LOT?"
"No need to get forceful."
"I will do what I like. Now if you would be so kind as to answer my question."
"It is who I am to observe. That is not to say I do so well, or that I do not miss out on other things by following my nature as I have found it. But the world is my own an that which I have thought is my home."


He then preceded to walk off. The boy had decided early in life it was his mission to pass judgement on all whom he found along his "path" in life. He didn't like to call it a path because that had too many connotations to destiny, which he thought was a load of poppycock.

[Interpret me!]

He could hold his ground in any discussion, he just rarely willed to. A firm believer in action which could be observed from his previous discussion with the pond girl, he could stand for no one who stood still too long.