She rubs her eyes, as she mentally takes off her rose tinted glasses. Placing her hands gently across her pleated white dress, she looks down at her empty hands. A small pool of red on her index finger, frozen in place looked defiantly back at her. For the first time, her hands, smooth as a velvet glove, sown with silk lining, seemed alien to her. No traces of time or labour had ever marked her olive skin. Even the sun had been kind to her. As had the roof over her head and the four walls that had firmly stood by her side, like soldiers protecting her from the cold nights and daily peering invaders. Today, she realised that her soul had been asleep for far too long. That in another life, in a parallel universe her existence would not have been as luxurious or straightforward. It wasnt guilt she felt, it wasnt self hate or pain. It was much worse. Today the same cloud, the same moon, the same roads and local shops looked back at her. Yet she saw them in a different light. She rubbed her big brown eyes again, this time moist from tears that had set by the bed of her long lashes. Smearing the black kohl along her eyes, she felt real. A mark: a fake stain on her face; much like the one that tainted her heart, that had for too long been veiled by the illusion of peace, had created imperfection. An anomaly in her visual presence that she accepted even if it was a momentarily smudge. It wasnt that she thought she was perfect. Life had prepped her and enveloped her into a catalogue image of success. It had ripped her soul and replaced it with glossy high definition colours. It had altered the lens of reality with an image of constant beauty and perfection. Society had nipped and tucked her mistakes and flaws into the back of a mindless pit. She was reborn into an era of fame and spotlight. But unlike the prick from the spindle of a sleeping spell, she was pricked by the hands of time with the realisation of life beyond her own comforts. A single dot of red against the canvas of her white dress, appeared to her as clear as day, as though through it she was staring into a looking glass of life. Behind her rose tinted glasses, she saw the faded dreams and hopes of young children, of the failing empire built on the backs of modern slaves of consumerism. O how her eyes had failed her reality. O how her mind had closed her thoughts. Sleeping Beauty, was finally awake. Finally She felt.
Posted on: Sat, 13 Sep 2014 22:43:15 +0000
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