Doll Face

There was nothing that she could do right. Every time she so much as dotted her lips with pigment or evenly shook her hands through her soft and mostly fake hair, she was in the wrong. It was hard, being in competition with a doll. A Barbie. She was the brunette one; the one only opted for because of it's cheapness and availability. And she was so close; so close to being the fair haired, dream queen that she could taste it like the blood in her mouth.

She felt it's weight now; a million plastic doll parts holding her underneath her tears until she gasped for air and forgiveness. She could walk like Barbie and talk like Barbie but she would never be Barbie. Not to them.

She removed the thin robe from her body, felt it drop from her shoulders; felt the chill of her exposed skin to the harsh air conditioning. She stood, so vulnerable, in the pale processed light of a sconce above. She caught her image in a mirror. It was revolting. This sad pitiful girl looking back at her. She didn't recognize her. Her skin was as pale as bone, her cheeks were sunken in. A palette of painfully bright hues smothered her face; all smeared together like that of a child's finger painting or that of a bruise, so decidedly distressed that it shone with few colors of the rainbow. In this light she looked hollow; so out of place in this technicolor world. A defect in a world of beauty queens. 

She pulled at her skin and picked at her face. She slowly dragged her fingernails across her face and body, making small imaginary cuts. The longer she stood, the deeper the marks become until they were bright red. Tears and mascara tumbled down onto the bleached white of her bra; instant stains were left.

She tepidly walked towards the bathroom now. A bath had been drawn, and in the cool artificial lights she lowered her self in; panties and bra in all. The water was room temperature. It felt cool compared to her tears, though. She sat, knees pulled up to her chest, and for a moment everything was silent except for the buzzing of the lights and the sound of her heart beating.

Wordlessly she reached for a razor and for a second contemplated the universe. If only she had walked better or was prettier or won the crowd over more. If only she didn't have blue and black holes that littered her body. If only she felt something other than despair.

It was during this contemplation that she went for it; the water grew warmer as the light buzzed harsher and her heart slowed its beat.

It was around this time that universe decided it had a plan for the young girl. And so, as she sunk under the water, pretending to be in a crystal clear pond near a cabin in the woods, the door was forced open. And she was carried to the pick up truck with shouts of home and death and a little calm pond.

But she would have to drown another day.

But the pond is so beautiful and languid; so warm and traditional, washing away ones sins of beauty and display. In the pond she was effervescent and timeless and all her own; not a expectation in the world; not a pageant to succumb to. And she would try yet again to sufficate in its shallow depths and cool anonymity.

-Barbie is owned by Mattel and not me.-