Beauty triumphs over despair
That is what she believed, when she was younger. In middle school, when she wore praying-mantis-eye glasses and an unruly brown ponytail and it seemed to her that the pretty girls were always happy. In middle school, when she was Smart Girl to everyone, nothing more and nothing less, when people looked at her and saw a geek, a freak, a nerd, the math equation in her brain echoed a resounding “beauty = happiness.” Perfect beauty, perfect balance, perfect happiness.
She’s too old now to believe in such notions – that’s what she tells herself – she doesn’t believe it anymore, really – but she still can’t help dressing her best when something else gets the best of her. She’s pretty now; glasses made way for contacts, her hair falls in soft curls around her shoulders, and she’s lost weight. But when she’s beautiful – that’s when something’s wrong.
That’s her, sitting alone at a glass-topped table on the café balcony. Today is one of those days, a bad day. This is how she is dressed today: In a pink sundress, with pink flowers in her dark hair and Cinderella open-toed heels on her feet, which are crossed demurely at the ankles. Her legs shine in the afternoon sunlight and attract the dark-haired, bewhiskered man at the next table. Coral nail polish glistens on her nails. She stares at them as if they belong to a stranger; not her hands – someone else’s.
She gets up and leans on the balcony railing, staring out at the horizon. The sun flashes in her hazel eyes. She sighs, leaves a handful of change on her table, drifts down the stairs and outside.
She cried when her boyfriend never came home from the office last night, cried and wondered why she wasn’t enough, thinking all the while that his blonde coworker was probably never distracted from sex by sudden thoughts of the reproductive cycle of liverworts or the metaphysics of space and time. Beauty, for some reason, is not enough. She knows this. And yet, this morning, she forced herself out of bed, got dressed, and went out to face the world with flowers in her hair.
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125,022 Literary Works • 672,759 Reviews
hey blue,
I have to agree with Yuriiko. This was incomplete, a fragment of a story with nothing for the reader to get their teeth into. It's a fleeting description of a girl. I don't know her name or anything about her really. I like the way you write, although I think your punctuation of sentences can be a bit messy (you use colons, semi-colons and dashes in what seems like a haphazard manner). There's a story here somewhere about a girl who always wants to look good, but it needs more. We need more characters, more conflict, more events, more stuff. Anything, really.
Hope this gets extended!
Hey there BlueAfrica!
~ This seemed almost like a prologue to me. Maybe it is or if not, it doesn't look like a short story. The concept you have here are like those you can see in the movies. Here, we have our average, smart, nerdy-looking kind of girl who grew up and change herself into someone who's very beautiful. I don't really have a problem with this, but it's a cliche' kind of thing.
~ There was no sufficient conflict here too. There is this pretty nonchalant atmosphere from the voice of the speaker. There was no striking parts that motivated me to read more of this. And the pacing is fast because you tend to skip events, like how did the girl changed? what were her factors considering it?
~ There are also some parts when you described those little things- like her nails, legs. Nothing bad to say here but you didn't mention their importance into the story. Did she go under a surgery? If she did, then try stating it here.
~Overall, this has potential. You have written this pretty well, though you need to make this stronger, more realistic as much as possible. There are some elements of a good story that you lack.
Let me know if you have any questions.
Keep writing,
Yuri
Hi,
I can find nothing wrong with this. In fact, I very much enjoyed it. I can relate to the girl in middle school, so it caught my attention early on. You did a great job, thanks for sharing.
God Bless,
Amber.