antoinette

The girl stared into the mirror. She knew she was beautiful, everyone told her so. Her skin was like porcelain, unblemished. Her eyes where china blue, nicely rounded, and framed by eyelashes that were unusually long. Her hair the black/blue colour of magpies trailed down to her waist and her lips were naturally reddish pink to perfection. She sat in a glass room, where day after day, people (men mostly) paid to take a look at the beautiful girl. They came from miles around and left satisfied. The girl stared at her reflection and wondered if all that was and would ever be, was this half-life. She wanted to be free. She wanted to be normal. She wanted to be ugly. She saw a tiny mark just under her left eye. She was so shocked to see it she stared at it for along time. It was no bigger than a pinhead. White in colour, it almost but not quite blended into her skin. She played with it for a while. She picked and worried it with her fingernail until it became more obvious. Then pop! A short piece of fine thread came out. It looked like a tiny knot in a piece of cotton. A stitch. Playing with it again, she loosened it and loosened it. What would happen if she pulled it out, she wondered. She wouldn't be perfect anymore. Not until it healed anyway. She pinched the thread between her thumb and forefinger and gently took up the slack. The people standing outside the glass room watched in silence. The girl gently tugged the piece of string. There was no pain. Slowly the string got longer and longer. She kept pulling. It looked like a tree root being pulled from the earth, making tracks as it travelled under her eye. Then she felt a bit of resistance. She pulled a bit harder and out came a worm like globule of green, pus. She kept pulling. She could hear the crowd now. "Urggghhh!" they screamed as they frantically rushed for the exit. The worm got longer and longer as she pulled it. It travelled across her nose and under the other eye, leaving a red bloody trail in its wake. Warm blood trickled down her checks in rivulets, like a waterfall and the putrid, smelly string sat in her hand as she stared at the gargoyle looking back at her. It had all been an illusion. A scam. She was a fake. No longer beautiful, the girl left. She was smiling.