Beautiful Girl

She doesn't know how long she's been here. It is humid and hot, and her veil sticks to her clammy face. Her skin is dirty and she feels she badly needs a wash. Her black oily hair is riddled with grease. Yet she is beautiful. Her sea-green eyes pierce whatever they settle on, you cannot detect the fear or anger in them. The green ocean drowns the feelings. But it is a clear ocean. You can see right into her soul. She is an orphan. She lives on the filthy streets of Kabul, and she knows she has to hide her beautiful face from the people who do not want to see it. But she breathes the air, gulping it down, as she uncovers her face, the veil flicked back. Just this one time, she thinks. The photographer is taken-aback. He falls into the pool in her eyes, right into the deep end. He is stunned by her natural beauty. She is a 12 year old girl, not a hint of make-up, and she hasn't washed her hair in months. Yet she is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. He imagines the girls from where he comes from. Shovelling on dark foundation, glooping their eyes with mascara, smearing on shiny lip-gloss, mounding their hair up and toxiding it with dyes. And he thinks to himself, maybe if they didn't try too hard, they would be as beautiful as this girl.

She is nervous, he can see. I feel naked, she thinks. Am I bad if I let this man take a picture of me? So many thoughts were swirled around at that moment, yet not a word was uttered. He holds up his high-tech camera, a strange contraption to the girl. She does not smile or show any sign of happiness. And this makes the picture better. If she is going to send out any kind of message to the world, it's going to be a true one. He clicks the button and the lens blinks.

Now, he thinks, the whole world can see the beauty of this girl.
Now, she thinks, I've sent out my call for help.