Every human being has something they truly admire... regardless whether it is their own child, wealth, or their business. Emma Taylors' most prized possession was her stuffed bear, brown with thin, shabby fur, and a little maroon dicky bow. Button nose, beady black eyes, and was stiffly sat on her second cabinet all day, every day. Given to her on the day she was born, August 8th... her 17th birthday had just gone 5 days before...
A picture can indeed speak out a thousand words, her latest and only one besides her, fixed on her bedside table as she slept. Taken 5 days ago and placed into her room earlier today. I wasn't sure on how to describe the definition of beauty. Yet in a world kinder than this, I had come to a conclusion in my early days of our meeting, she was clearly the definition of it. Emma, a young girl that was resting on her bed without leaving any imprint of her even laying there, feathers from a pillow falling did not compare to how delicate she was in her part. Hair, ash brown with few platinum highlights were spread across the pillow, waves lapping gently upon the shore. Her lips were clearly kissable and that they soon were, her mouth shaped like a carefully crafted bow, fashioned out of the softest wood. In the darkness anyone could still see she was slightly tanned, few freckles dotted under her eyes and the low bridge of her Nubian nose. The light was soon to shine on her face as if all her days began brightly, and they did.
I paid dear attention to her eyes, not to be cliche, but whilst I watched her stand to open the curtains and witness her hair fall behind her shoulders, the dawn light had hit her perfectly, and her upturned eyes like always sparkled like stars in the night sky.
I don't mean to talk about the night sky, in fact, let's not at all. It was her reason for accepting the light, to avoid the darkness that attempted to eat her whole. Of course, the darkness attempted this on most teens.
Her long naturally black eyelashes sparkled as if they were touched up with glitter. Yet Emma dared to mask her face and hide her true beauty... She disagreed with makeup strongly, often criticising the idea of it whilst watching her natural self in the mirror. She believed in took away what many tried to accomplish.
Beauty.
Emma Taylors was a writer and a singer, though her voice held no competition juxtaposed to her beauty. I had heard her many times, but one night, in particular, she addressed the issue she felt strongly about. Her voice was kind, but she was no professional, perfect for her sort of work though and nothing more. If with permission I would gladly tell you everything I knew about the girl. No, actually you are trusted by me...you could hear worse... Remember "You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you don't trust enough" - Frank Crane.
Her song, based on a stereotypical perception of true beauty went like this:
"Beauty is pain, but really? this generation makes me sick nowadays, is that all women are today? Slaves to you, your souls need surgery! Clearly, you don't see the things that I see"
That is all I will say for now, but I am sure you will hear all her work.
I speak about beauty a lot, both physical and spiritual, and throughout the journey I share with this girl I will. You don't know her like I do.
Her hair, again, always falling off her head like waves. At '5ft 7', I know from her blabbering on about how she got measured and weighed at school, and complained at, her hair just beyond her shoulders. But straight, in which it rarely was, reached her mid-back. Her curls tight.
Her figure, the exact replica of an hourglass. Underweight, but looking at her you wouldn't believe it. 8 stone, but a bottom that looks as though it should weigh all she weighed.
From the layout of the room, one could only see the side of her face, but the girl had turned. Her eyes, though such a cheesy cliche, really did sparkle under the light. Aquamarine green, and so perfectly designed, painted with such delicacy and detail. Beauty. Oh, such beauty.
She wore a long loose 'Bring Me The Horizon' band top, a regular top mind you that she had always slept in. And her Elmo shorts. Not fully a grown up yet, but soon. The girl had just slept for 7 hours and was now wide awake at 05:30 am. She yawned and stretched, and slipped on her black fluffy socks, and Hello Kitty slippers, before sitting back down on the side of her bed. She wondered what she could do, as it was a record of her being the only teen awake at such a time like this, in the summer holidays, in her neighbourhood. She considered her options:
- Clean her room
-Sing and write a song
-Eat and get a drink
-Go back to bed
-Or ring Stacey Grey – the closest someone could get to being her friend
Surely, Stacey was awake, the black haired girly girl was likely not even contemplating sleep until 9am... like every day, getting 5 hours of sleep alone daily. But Emma refused to listen to her talk none stop all morning about her new boyfriend, one she probably only got with yesterday, perhaps the ninth this week. It was only Thursday... No! Sleep would be much more appreciated, and she could do with a dream. It would be one of her last.
I mean, this time, next month, she'd have her exams to worry about.
YOU ARE READING
Rotten On Us
General FictionCan pain come so suddenly? It is a hard emotion to fake, but Emma did? That's what everyone said and what everyone believed. But she didn't want to. She was normal in every way, and she'd stay normal. She faked the opposite in fact, and everyo...
