Selfish Desires


The words echoed in my mind, rattling about. I was unable to suppress them, no matter how many nights I spent in tears, clutching my arms and whispering to myself. I was hideous, in every sense of the world. A tangled mess of brunette curls sat atop my head, far too short to resemble those of goddesses, and far too thick to forage with a brush. Black pupils were lost in a sea of chocolate iris. But it wasn’t the beautiful, silky chocolate, which came in crinkled packages. Nor was it the chocolate trailed closely by a smile. It was the kind that was discarded, excess from Halloween that not a soul desired.

I ran that night, as far as I could, with baggy night clothes clenched to my bulbous figure. Cars zipped by, here and there. They left me with the remnants of jolly songs, of upbeat tunes sung by the wealthy few.

Suddenly, I stopped. There was a house different from the rest, one I hadn’t noticed before. I paused, and tilted my neck every so slightly. The door appeared to be ajar. Through it, an olfactory surprise escaped. The savory aroma of a family dinner consumed me. I was a toy soldier under an empty Christmas tree.

I couldn’t help myself. I bustled up the stairs, and through the hallway. Paintings were everywhere, depictions of money, clothes, attractive gentlemen, and ancient architecture long forgotten. Not a single picture of a family.

At the end of the hallway, there was a door. It was black, rimless, and free of any ornate embellishment that might attract my eye. I turned the handle, and entered.

Before me was a flute of a girl, her figure tuned by a most-careful musician. I stepped into the room, and the light behind me faded.

“Beautiful”, a voice called out.

“Perfect”, said another.

And then, there was a flash. I cringed.

“What in the world?”

I was ambushed by them, everywhere, on all sides. The world was an orb of white light. I was blinded by it. It took me a moment to notice the men behind the cameras. They looked down on me, each and every one of them. Their eyes widened agreeably with my every move. I was an object, nothing more.

My hands found the wall, and I groped for the handle. I didn't’ want to be here anymore. I didn’t want to be anyone else. I wanted to be me.

Though the night was ever so still, and the girl had long since returned home, one thing in the apartment had changed. There was another painting, one of a picturesque girl, with an impeccable smile, and a princess-like wave.