Lost your balance on a tightrope, lost your mind tryin' to get it back. --Innocent, Taylor Swift
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Highlight: In Which She Talks to a Surprisingly Intelligent Child
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I woke up to someone poking my cheek.
No, I don't drool or snore. Yes, I'm the typical "Hollywood kind of girl that looks perfect when they wake up, etc."Just because my sleeping habits have no flaws in them doesn't mean I'm perfect.
No one is perfect.
I, of all people, should know that.
No matter how hard you try to be, no matter how hard you pretend to be, you can't be perfect.
"Hey, you. Are you awake already?"
I turned my head to look at a young girl.
She was breathtakingly beautiful, even with her two front teeth missing. Her blue eyes, paired with her wispy blond hair, made her seem like some kind of angel.
"Yeah, I am, why'd you wake me up?", I say groggily, stretching. The girl just looked on as I stretched her wide eyes turning my movements into moments.
"You wanna play with me?", she said, smiling, with an air of innocence.
Darn it, her smile is so contagious, I thought, feeling my own spread through my face.
"Sure. What are we playing?"
"Barbies!", she cried out enthusiastically, shoving the plastic doll in my face.
"Okay, okay."
We played for about half an hour.
I envied kids like her. So lost in their own worlds. So innocent. So pure.
But I definitely envied the people who were not forced to play with us.
Unfortunately for me, I was forced to speak like a stupid squeaky toy and if my voice is going to get any squeakier, or higher, it's gonna be higher than Whitney Houston's.
"So-", wait, too high,"-ahem, why are you so obsessed with these barbies?", I asked Charmaine, the girl.
"Because they're pretty!"
I smiled, this time, a bitter one.
"Just because they're pretty, you like them?"
She nodded.
"Beauty isn't all there is to life, Charmaine. Sometimes, your heart-", I pointed to her chest, "-is worth more than your beauty."
"Will beauty save you from society?"
"What?", I ask, surprised of such an intelligent question.
Seriously, what do her parents teach her? I think they deserve a good one-two for giving me this innocent torture.
Wait, innocent torture? Darn it! Urgh.....
"Society only admire pretty people, Barbies. Some are plastic, yet everyone still loves them. Being pretty causes you pain, but society will love you anyway."
I was speechless for a moment. How could one little girl know so much?
"But... beauty won't give you love.", I say, regaining my voice, "Love comes from the heart, and it's more than enough. When someone loves you, he or she should not care for your beauty."
"Did someone love you before?"
"Yes. A boy."
Many of them actually, but let's talk about that for another time, yes?
She squealed.
"Was he as handsome as Ken?"
"Who?"
"Barbie's boyfriend."
"Yeah. Maybe even more. But as of now, he belongs to Barbie."
"Why?"
"Because she's pretty."
A pause. She blinked, as she tried to understand why.
"But you're pretty too!", she exclaims indignantly. Her blue irises flash with irritation, and I smile at the compliment.
"Here."
I pull out my phone and show her a picture. The girl also had blonde hair, but with green eyes, something I would really kill for.
You can say I'm really.... "green" with envy.
Okay, enough with the puns.
"But you're still prettier..... And you're not plastic...."
"Desperate people defeat sincere, beautiful ones.", I explain.
She pouts, and I reach over to pinch her cheeks. Her cuteness was so overwhelming that I couldn't resist.
"So you're desperate?"
"What??!!", I exclaimed, earning angry glares from awakened passengers.
No, no, no! She's getting the wrong idea!
"Ladies and gentlemen, please go back to your respectful seats. Please raise the window covers, tuck your tables away, and fasten your seatbelts. We are now landing."
I wave bye to Charmaine, who was being towed away by her parents.
As I got off the plane, I immediately took off the cardigan I was wearing.
I never knew it was this hot here. Back in New York, I was accustomed to living by air conditioners.
As I took off the cardigan, I instantly earned wolf whistles from boys around me, and disapproving glares from parents.
Why? Probably the fault of my crop top.
Is it a crime to wear something that can show off your stomach?
New town, I guess.
Here we go again.
YOU ARE READING
The Art Of Movement
Teen Fiction『 I don't dance. 』 At least, not anymore. Dancing was a huge part of me, like my parents and my siblings were. I loved dancing, I really did. Dancing wasn't just a way to express for me, it was also away to be able to move my body gracefully, or t...
