Young Writers Society

There are three types of people in the world.

The Proud.

The Humble.

And the Inconspicuous.

The Proud are boisterous, chests puffed like happy robins, giddy and always showing off their works. The Proud can be good people or bad people or boring people or interesting people, and it's written in permanent ink on their faces.

The Humble are quiet, waiting for fate, for others to look at what they have, for themselves to be recognised through quiet discovery. The Humble are still the bad and the good and the boring and interesting, and the Humble are always folk who decide that being Proud is foolish. If you boast to be humble, chances are you are not.

The Inconspicuous are silent. They are the overlooked, the ones who hide in the shadows of others, the ones never to be recognised, faces always jumbled into something else. The Inconspicuous are inconspicuous. Some are much like the humble, and other have to fight to be seen at the best of times. The Inconspicuous are often called wall-flowers. They stand near the sides of the room, listening to a tale of intrigue and suspense, but never joining in. They are the ones quietly watching you from across the table as you finish up your lamb steak. They can be bad or good, and are always interesting. No one boasts to be inconspicuous. The Inconspicuous are there. They are the listeners, the readers, the ones who stare, the men and women and the ones mixed among the Proud and Humble and Others.

That is not a bad thing, not really, because what would this world be without them? They do not hide. They could be sitting by the window in a cafe, drinking their beverage or reading the paper. But no one has ever gone up to one. Why would they? They are, after all, a stranger...

...and yet they are needed. This world without one who was Inconspicuous would not be the world you knew. Because it is truly the Inconspicuous who make the world so wonderful and interesting. They are secret. But they know one another, and they notice one another. The world, in the eyes of an Inconspicuous, is a place full of magic. They never grow up, not really. Their minds are silly to those who hear the words, to the Humble and Proud, but not to the ones like them. They keep their dreams of flying, or being astronauts, even when they’re old and wrinkly, even when they are past the point of hope.

Yet things changed.

It was when a visionary of the Inconspicuous died that the others decided it was time, time to make their mark, and it split them in two. There were now two parts to the Inconspicuous, the ones who were tired of being overlooked versus the ones who wanted it that way. A feud began, and as quick as a flash, sides were taken. Recruits were chosen. It was if a war was looming, and a war would do no good.

This feud had to be settled, quickly and peaceably.

But it wasn't going to be that simple.