Beautiful Weird Humans

The invisible woman

Amy Poulain had an invisible face. She also had an invisible body. She wore invisible clothes. She would be standing next to you one second and be gone the next. Amy was the type of person to have a natural, uncontrollable talent at passing by unnoticed.

I would describe what she looks like but, would it really matter? You'd forget her right away. She was the person standing before you in line at the coffee shop. She had even spoken to you while you waited for your morning latte.

"Excuse me, what time is it?" she had said in a quick, hushed voice.

"Eight thirty," you'd replied back, with nothing but a swift glance before going back to your news feed. She'd been too shy to meet your eyes.

She was gone from your mind before you had even put the lid on your cup.

But she liked being invisible. Amy loved her bubble of joy and quietness. She spent her days daydreaming at that table at the end of the diner, or at that desk at the back row in class, or on her balcony at the top of that apartment building. Posing her quiet smile, she stared down at the world from the comfort of her small, crystal ball.

Sweet, innocent Amy, you'd think. She was the last person you'd expect to be hiding a nasty, little secret.

But first things first. You see, Amy loved writing. It was a pity, then, that writing did not seem to love her back. Enthralling romances, heart-breaking dramas, marveling fantasies: nothing seemed to work for her. The audacious knights she daydreamed about turned bland the second they came to life on a page; the dragons unintimidating, the princess unpleasant, the plot dull. And failure after failure, draft after draft, block after block, her frustration built up.

Until now.

"I'm sorry Amy," her friend Sophia said, breaking the warm aura of the Saturday brunch. "I can't show this draft to my boss. I think your story needs some more work."

Amy put her fork down, scrambled eggs intact. "What?"

"Oh, come on, don't be like that."

"Like what? I'm... fine. Everything's fine."

"See? This is why I did not want to do this. I'm now stuck between my best friend and my job, but I've told you what Mrs. Dietrichson is like. I can't just shove any draft under her nose unless it's..." Sophia hesitated for an instant, failing to find a less hurtful word. "Unless it's good enough." She sighed in defeat.

Silence dragged on for a few seconds. Both women sipped their mimosas for an unnecessary long time, eyes to the sides.

"So, what is it?"

"What is what?"

"What don't you like about my book?" Amy muttered. She did not make eye contact.

"Well, for starters, the princess is... weird. I don't buy her. Her decisions seem reckless and do not match who she claims she is. She elopes with this guy from court and steals the Queen's –"

"Why not?" Amy interrupted. "Why would she not do that?"

Sophia sighed. "She's just too nice. She's... well, she's like you. Just... think about it. You'd never do anything like that, would you? You are just an adorable, sweet, nice girl."

That had been it. The last straw. Five minutes later, Amy dashed out of the café, livid. A nice, boring princess, that's what she was. Well, screw that and screw Sophia! Who did she think she was, anyway? Little Miss Perfect, thinking she was good enough to spread judgement just because she had happened to get that ridiculous internship. She probably couldn't write herself if she –

Amy stopped. She had been rambling through the city streets, charging at the passerby, chomping on her thoughts. Looking at the place ahead, a wild, visceral thought crossed her mind like a lightning bolt. She wouldn't dare... or would she? Sophia's words came echoing back and smacked her in the face. You are just an adorable, sweet, nice girl. And that settled it. Yes. She would show her friend what lovely, sugary ladies were capable of. Amy approached the tall, elegant marble building, climbed the big stone steps towards the front entrance and gulped down the last of her mimosa – that yoga water bottle she'd been carrying around had been of use for a change.

This is the beginning of Amy Poulain's nasty, little secret. You see, she's about to rob the Beaumont National Museum.