Outer Beauty; Deep As Skin And Just As Thin
Why
Why is she all alone?
There she sat, perched upon an ivory-painted, ornate stool. Her lacey white gown hugged her young body, a pretty white hat placed atop her amber waves. Bright blue orbs lingered on the delicate china cup, filled to the brim with sweet tea. Occasionally she allowed herself glimpses of the other children her age, running freely, enjoying the sweet taste of cakes together.
She pokes daintily at her slice, munching here and there. She was far more interested in her mother’s conversation, eagerly awaiting her words.
Why is she all alone?
The beautiful mothers, porcelain features, silky hair, and all, were chattering away in hushed whispers, and although she could barely hear them, the girl knew her name was being spoken, over and over.
“Beth,” she heard one woman hiss, “why is she all alone? What is wrong with your daughter?”
Is she okay? Is she okay?
Their voices chorused throughout the yard, a melody snaring like knives at the depths of her mind. But the girl kept still, as she always had. For twelve years, she remained a wallflower, simply awaiting fate. She decided there was nothing she could possibly do but that; wait. Waiting never seemed to have hurt anyone. Gracefully placing another bite of cake on her silver fork, she listened.
And listened.
And listened.
Why is she all alone? Is she okay?
And finally, she heard.
Just a horrid child.
The words. The heads, lovely blondes, brunettes, and flames of red shook with distaste. And her mother, long amber locks, just like hers, shook with shame; ashamed to have mothered such a terrible, hideous girl.
Plain, ugly, foolish girl.
The cake in her small mouth tasted of spoil, her face contorted, about to let out the inevitable tears. She stood up, pained, running in her new dress to the washroom.
There were other girls in their already, preening at their beauty, braiding each other’s gorgeous hair. They stared at her haggard appearance, one of them holding back a chuckle, the other rolling her sea green eyes.
She tried her best to ignore them, and locked herself into one of the stalls. Their cackles were growing louder, and she just sat on the seat, arms wrapped around her legs, heaving deep breaths in and out.
After quite a while, she heard footsteps and a door open, and gingerly opened up the stall.
She let out a sigh of relief, enjoying the emptiness. But a sudden feeling tore at her small stomach, and she felt the need to scream.
She ran back into the stall, clutching locks of hair in one hand, holding onto the rim of the seat in the other.
And she began to wretch.
The disgusting act only made her want to vomit even more. She was ashamed, frightened, and pathetic. Her body was shaking as she silently was emptied of all nourishment. She was mortified. It seemed as if she would never cease, until each and every organ was freed, until she was just a fleshy shell.
But, eventually, the girl was freed from her prison. She was wheezing, shaking. No one seemed to had noticed her absence, however. She walked wearily to the mirror, and began to make herself at least partially decent. She straightened out her gown, and ran her fingers through her long hair.
All the while, the sickening taste of sour vomit was in her throat. She rinsed her mouth with water from the sink, and then finally stood back up.
Her empty stomach was oddly pleasing; giving her a feeling of exhilaration; freedom. She glared menacingly at her reflection; angry with herself to even be thinking such things. But she couldn’t deny that it gave her a revolting feeling of pleasure.
After spending nearly an hour in the room, she began to walk back outside; fearful of the stares. Fearful of everything and everyone.
On her twelfth birthday, Riah Summers surrendered her young soul to the clutches of starvation and pain; sure these allies would stitch her broken soul back together.
Make me Beautiful
There she sat, perched upon an ivory-painted, ornate stool. Her lacey white gown hugged her young body, a pretty white hat placed atop her amber waves. Bright blue orbs lingered on the delicate china cup, filled to the brim with sweet tea. Occasionally she allowed herself glimpses of the other children her age, running freely, enjoying the sweet taste of cakes together.
She pokes daintily at her slice, munching here and there. She was far more interested in her mother’s conversation, eagerly awaiting her words.
Why is she all alone?
The beautiful mothers, porcelain features, silky hair, and all, were chattering away in hushed whispers, and although she could barely hear them, the girl knew her name was being spoken, over and over.
“Beth,” she heard one woman hiss, “why is she all alone? What is wrong with your daughter?”
Is she okay? Is she okay?
Their voices chorused throughout the yard, a melody snaring like knives at the depths of her mind. But the girl kept still, as she always had. For twelve years, she remained a wallflower, simply awaiting fate. She decided there was nothing she could possibly do but that; wait. Waiting never seemed to have hurt anyone. Gracefully placing another bite of cake on her silver fork, she listened.
And listened.
And listened.
Why is she all alone? Is she okay?
And finally, she heard.
Just a horrid child.
The words. The heads, lovely blondes, brunettes, and flames of red shook with distaste. And her mother, long amber locks, just like hers, shook with shame; ashamed to have mothered such a terrible, hideous girl.
Plain, ugly, foolish girl.
The cake in her small mouth tasted of spoil, her face contorted, about to let out the inevitable tears. She stood up, pained, running in her new dress to the washroom.
There were other girls in their already, preening at their beauty, braiding each other’s gorgeous hair. They stared at her haggard appearance, one of them holding back a chuckle, the other rolling her sea green eyes.
She tried her best to ignore them, and locked herself into one of the stalls. Their cackles were growing louder, and she just sat on the seat, arms wrapped around her legs, heaving deep breaths in and out.
After quite a while, she heard footsteps and a door open, and gingerly opened up the stall.
She let out a sigh of relief, enjoying the emptiness. But a sudden feeling tore at her small stomach, and she felt the need to scream.
She ran back into the stall, clutching locks of hair in one hand, holding onto the rim of the seat in the other.
And she began to wretch.
The disgusting act only made her want to vomit even more. She was ashamed, frightened, and pathetic. Her body was shaking as she silently was emptied of all nourishment. She was mortified. It seemed as if she would never cease, until each and every organ was freed, until she was just a fleshy shell.
But, eventually, the girl was freed from her prison. She was wheezing, shaking. No one seemed to had noticed her absence, however. She walked wearily to the mirror, and began to make herself at least partially decent. She straightened out her gown, and ran her fingers through her long hair.
All the while, the sickening taste of sour vomit was in her throat. She rinsed her mouth with water from the sink, and then finally stood back up.
Her empty stomach was oddly pleasing; giving her a feeling of exhilaration; freedom. She glared menacingly at her reflection; angry with herself to even be thinking such things. But she couldn’t deny that it gave her a revolting feeling of pleasure.
After spending nearly an hour in the room, she began to walk back outside; fearful of the stares. Fearful of everything and everyone.
On her twelfth birthday, Riah Summers surrendered her young soul to the clutches of starvation and pain; sure these allies would stitch her broken soul back together.
Make me Beautiful