Beauty- A beast within

by Asma.

navajo-woman-drying-her-hair11

The sun had set long ago. Even the last streaks of hue were blending into an impenetrable darkness of the approaching night. But she had no plans of heading home early. Done with her usual rounds of jogging, she sat on an ice cold bench. Engrossed in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice when someone took a seat beside her. Moments later she looked up to see a feminine face beaming at her.

‘Nice weather, isn’t it?’

‘It’s cold’, she stammered.

‘Obviously, it’s December. What did you expect?’ The lady chuckled.

She shrugged. She had never expected much from her life or she thought so. What was December to her but just another month on the calendar? She retracted into her invisible shell once more.

‘Nice hair you’ve got.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘Nothing..I was just complimenting your hair. Good texture… In fact I’d call it Perfect considering mine.’ Saying this, the lady motioned to her frayed hair bun half hidden beneath a wool muffler. ‘Anyway it was nice talking to you. I’ll leave you be.’ With that the lady buttoned up her coat and departed into the velvety night.

If not more, she was acceptable. A fine young lady- tan, slender, 5’7’’ crossing into 8’’. Her features made it easy to fit into her surroundings. Her friends, on the other hand stood out with but she didn’t mind. Complex of the sort never found way to break into her sky high confidence. She had other accolades, ones she deemed worthy of her interest and energy; a mere tag of miss pretty wasn’t among them. In her opinion, beauty was a nuisance. Like all the things in life, it also came with a price – Something she would never settle for, so she learned to do without it and succeeded too, though briefly.

She ran a finger through her hair absent mindedly. ‘Perfect’, she heard herself repeat and smiled. The ice queen was melting. It wasn’t long before the dread of losing her only perfection gripped her. Fear was the price she had to pay for what she had been permitted.

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