War of Prey

6)Gorgeous Phantom

"Where she walks no flowers bloom."

***

For the girl who lived in the stars, nothing could bring her back to Earth. Her mind wandered home all the time, thinking about stars and planets and the atmosphere. A golden child whose mind traveled all around the golden globe. Her mind was so psychologically advanced people wandered if she were human, her beauty more than could be said. The maidens of her land envied her with such great lust it's a wonder this girl is still alive. The husbands of the maiden's lust after the girl and leave their wives and children behind for the gorgeous phantom. They saw her, they know she exists. They know she is a real thing, just no one can prove it. They all see her; how could you miss her? Some ask if she is an angel from Heaven or a devil from Hell. She's as smart as she is cunning and ten times as pretty; she's a phantom.

Was she really in the stars, or was it broken glass that shone like them? Was it really a halo atop her head or just the heat searing her hair? Does anyone know her? See her, truly? How can you know a ghost, even one as charming as she? It isn't fair they all believed, it isn't right that she walks free, no weight on her shoulders, no crease in her brow. It isn't fair that her life is perfect, that she is perfect, pray tell what she has done to deserve that luxury! Oh, but my, you do not see, no you foolish child! How you are so blind! Her dresses poufy, never wrinkled, makeup never smudged, body always perfect, eyes remain unstained, tears nowhere in sight. But how can someone, let alone a girl, be so perfect, have it so good when the rest struggle to meet ends?

Oh my foolish child!—look deeper, deeper in her eyes, deeper I say! Look into her soul. Oh no, holes dot her heart; no marks mar her soul. No flaw has graced her body, no impurity in her air. You still don't see

Look at her hands—look I say! Oh, bracelets lace their way up her arms, necklaces cover her delicate throat.

Look at her feet! Only painted toenails and anklets surround the delicate limbs. Always in heels, girls are rich to not show their feet.

Look at her eyes—no, look! You still don't see? Only icy blue eyes rimmed with black, only thick lashes and shine beneath her eyes.

Look at her hair, look very hard. No? Just long strands of thick blonde hair, so blonde it blinds my eyes!—so long like Rapunzel's, oh why does she deserve it?

Oh, my child, take my hand—take my hand and let me show you what your naïve eyes cannot see. Her dress is big to hide her waist, all too big for her liking, to hide her stomach, not flat enough.

Her makeup in layers, tattooed on her face, always on. The smudging looks like a dramatic effect.

Her body isn't perfect, sunburned underneath her clothes.

She has contacts in to hide the damaged blood vessels in her eyes.

There are tears on her cheeks, it just blends in with the makeup.

Her heart is in pieces, just held together by tape.

Her soul is shattered, just strung together by string.

The freckles on her body, on her face, chest, and arms, they are just covered by makeup.

Do you see yet my child? No? Take my hand and walk this land with me.

Smoke sleeps in her lungs.

Beneath those bracelets are scars from a blade, she wears so many so that you cannot see them bleed.

Her high neckline and big necklaces hide the stitches from her surgeries.

Her toenails are painted so you can't see that there are no toenails there, just an illusion.

Anklets cover her shot veins.

She never shows her feet because she's afraid someone will see the burns on the bottom of her feet from fire and burning coal.

Her hair dyed blonde so you can't see through to her back where a large wound from her boyfriend never healed.

So now do you see Young One, that she doesn't walk free, do you see the marks on her shoulders from the world? The crease in her brow smoothed out by serum. She isn't perfect nor is her life. What luxury do you see? Has she not deserved to be at peace? She hides her Hell in hopes to see Heaven.

She's not rich. She works ten hours a day to put food on the table, God knows her drunk father and dead mother won't do it. The makeup and dresses, the heels and jewelry, they come from her friends because they pity her, they try to make her pretty so they aren't embarrassed. The boys you see drooling over her, they only want one thing, pretty mother means pretty children. The jealous girls think she has it all, think she has all the guys. The one guy she wants threw her away, the one she has beats her every night. So the lace that covers her arms is to hide her scars and bruises from his assault, the makeup she wears is to hide her pain and her exhaustion. The grades she has driven on by prayers, prayers to not let her four little siblings down.

Do you see now that she hides her pain so well as to not disappoint others or have them disappoint her? Her fear and torment slip beneath the waters of her efforts to protect those she loves. No, it is not fair. It is not fair that she has walked through fire naked, not fair that she will never be loved in the way she craves. My Little One, do not judge those whom you see before you know them, nothing is ever what it seems. Look deeper into her soul and you will not see the soul of a shattered life but a soul of a warrior.