Sweetish

Chapter 18

Back in the cold, dusty halls of Sammy's home the echoes of faint panting bounced back and forth against the walls, the floor and the ceiling. The muffled, rhyming sound of perfectly aligned footsteps acted as a beat to the primal sound, and had it not been trapped in her ribcage, be accompanied by the procession of her heart. The Tiffany Arrows album had run out of songs to play, and Sammy didn't feel like pressing replay or thinking of something else to play. The treadmill she uses costs more than her rhinoplasty. Granted, her rhinoplasty was only a simple file down, to make her nose more sharp.

Somehow that thought distracted her from the beads of sweat rolling down her brow and the dryness in her lungs. That nose job was the first and most defining treatment she ever had, not counting the never ending diets, never ending vitamins, military level workouts and fully prepaid spa treatments. The way she looked before, while still considered more than beautiful by her peers, was too round and soft for the standard set in her circle. Her culture believed that outer beauty was one of the most defining factors in a person's life, and she's heard horror stories of people who were thown away as children in the past for looking too ungodly. For as much Sammy thought the whole thing was stupid, she couldn't help but admit that she herself had memories of being treated as less than when she first started making her own clothing. In that moment, a voice crossed her mind;

"What a horrible thing to think! Back home, people like that were seen as miracles, a gift from the depths of the ocean to cherish! How could your people leave your very own out to rot!" Dulce. Of course it was his voice that crossed her mind. Sammy decided to turn the treadmill down a bit to focus on this one amongst the sea of other thoughts scratching away in the back of her mind. She can't focus if she's breathing too loud.

Dulce always made being a good person seem so... effortless. How does someone do that, just to be a good person, a kind soul with no flaws whatsoever? Well of course there are the OBVIOUS ones, but if her country didn't have that stupid social standard they would ALL see it too. When she was younger she heard whispers about their race being uneducated thieves who live in caves because they were too ugly to be seen by The Serpent. How they would spend all day getting drunk and belligerent and all night cannabalizing anyone and anything that bothered them.

Even as a child she thought they were horrible rumors, but to her shock, just a couple of weeks ago the dumbest one of all turned out to be true. Who would have guessed Murfolken were born with a golden tooth on their forehead? Why? What was it used for? And why does it fall off? At the time she was too embarrassed to ask anything further, but now, especially with the swarm of emails and fan letters asking about it during the last issue....

She turns the treadmill down again. A nice simple trot. Focus.

Her own people were not as magical in her mind. Sirpentborne were just so... predictable. Easy. Too easy to categorize. She tries not to let her own biased inform her relationship with others, but each and every day, having to look at the same grey skin blue cheeks and the same beesting lips under the same sharpened nose under the same stoney brow over the slightly different shade of grey or blue or black or whatever eyes is maddening. And then having to perfect it all? Mass producing photo after photo, everything being clean and safe and the only difference being mole, a season, photoshopping out any leaf that's less than green and any flower that didn't bloom?She'd rather die right now, right in this moment, by being run over by a sentient gelato truck that reincarnated into a duck. An angry gelato truck. With wings.

Dulce never felt that way. He loved every bit of what she captured, the dust, the dirt, the picture she kept in her personal folder of him sitting on the floor of his shop after closing, absolutely demolishing a crunchy walnut burrito, doused in cheese and hot sauce. That was REAL joy. REAL life. He didn't need a wedding with irisis shipped in from the west or to have all of his kids wearing the exact same dress, tailored and clean pressed. She didn't need A jeweled arch or to wait 5 hours so the sun could be in the right spot. He didn't even notice what a shabby job she did when setting up the stand at the food fair. She didn't think he even realized the table fell over because of her recklessness. Of course, shed have done a better job of she wasn't late but he didn't even bring it up. He was just... grateful. For everything she did.

The sound of her machine slowly gave way to the near imperceptble sound of heels, clicking away at marble, and the jingling of keys. It Sammy moved to her room now, her mother would take it as an invitation to have a "conversation with her. She had to stay calm. Quiet. Unnoticeable. A piece of background art in her own home. Like the echoes on the wall and the dust on the ivory. Complete invisibility.

The sound stopped for a moment, and so did Sammy's breath. The opening of a drawer. The low grumble in her mom's throat. More clicking. A door. A door? And then... silence. All was silent besides her feet and her machine. Her mother simply forgot her day clutch. She had been spared.

In quiet relief, Sammy decided to turn the entire set up off.