Beauty
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Beauty
Not so long ago, a young woman, in a place not far from here, spent most of her waking hours locating reflective surfaces in which she could constantly reaffirm her beauty. She had no concerns about the effect her looks had on other people, but as situations can change in a moment, she had developed the habit of checking herself out without anyone else really noticing. In fact, most people she spent time with were, in her mind, insensible of this near-permanent state of watchfulness. She was always quietly pleased when she saw the look on a man’s face change from that of opinionless shopping companion to an open mouthed lust crazed animal when she walked oh-so- innocently past and flashed her Burmese-sapphire blue eyes directly at the hapless victim on the street or in a department store. In order to maintain this immense power it was, to her mind, imperative that her flawless appearance was subject to this regular and rigorous visual quality control, and she had developed a strong instinct for knowing exactly where the closest satisfactory reflection could be obtained, even with her eyes closed. Sadly, for one in possession of such boundless physical beauty, her mind could stand no such scrutiny, for, as is often the case with those who are gifted in one way, they are often deficient in another. It was not that she was stupid, for if she were, she would not have utilised her appearance to such good purpose in obtaining as gifts the material goods that sweetened her charmed life; no, she was the owner of an ugly, cruel mind that saw no wrong in insulting and abusing those who were less perfect that herself. As you would expect of someone so beautiful, she saved her harshest and most vicious opprobation for those who visually offended her delicate sensitivites. No one was spared her constant running critique, even her coterie of acolytes who hung slavishly onto her every poisoned syllable. She denounced with
the ease borne of long practice the tall and the short, the fat and the not-quite-asthin-as-her, the brunette and the blonde, the fashionable and those who were free of such constraints. In short, noone was spared her klieg light scrutiny. Her self appointment as the critic of all things appearance based quite frequently obliged her to offer her opinion on other people in somewhat inappropriate situations. However, she took her responsbilities as the arbiter of beauty, taste and style so seriously that the risks implicit in openly criticising young women in public places were ones she was willing to take. Late one evening, fuelled in no small part by the abundance of free drinks that always flowed so freely to her glass, she launched her attentions on a group of young women who had clearly been having a wild time and were now waiting for a taxi. Initially the women, raucous as magpies, ignored her, not imagining for one moment that the haughty, sour faced, perfectly presented woman was addressing any of them. Exorcised by their lack of regard for her undeniable beauty superiority as she stood ignored by them in the rain muffled night she homed in on one of the happy number, berating her loudly for the imperfection of her legs and the crassness in revealing their offensiveness in public. The sudden silence that ensued following the second and much louder onslaught was only broken by sharp invective from the offended female. The superior smile from the protagonist which met the outburst inverted itself as she saw a flash of metal protruding from an outstretched hand which emerged as if in slow motion towards her. Opening her mouth to scream as though a shriek could defend as adequately as an insult can attack, she was unable to make a sound as the blade easily sliced her perfectly made up cheek. The upward swipe which described a lazy, near perfect semi circle on her face ended when it met the resistance of her aquamarine eye.
Her acolytes had all melted away like butter on toast at the first sign of trouble as did the group of girls containing the attacker at the last and she was left on the murky pavement screaming in agony. Not only the physical agony of the wound, but the agony of the inevitability of her ruined beauty and the knowledge that she now had joined the club she had previously mocked. That of the afflicted.
Not so long ago, a young woman, in a place not far from here, spent most of her waking hours locating reflective surfaces in which she could constantly reaffirm her beauty. She had no concerns about the effect her looks had on other people, but as situations can change in a moment, she had developed the habit of checking herself out without anyone else really noticing. In fact, most people she spent time with were, in her mind, insensible of this near-permanent state of watchfulness. She was always quietly pleased when she saw the look on a man’s face change from that of opinionless shopping companion to an open mouthed lust crazed animal when she walked oh-so- innocently past and flashed her Burmese-sapphire blue eyes directly at the hapless victim on the street or in a department store. In order to maintain this immense power it was, to her mind, imperative that her flawless appearance was subject to this regular and rigorous visual quality control, and she had developed a strong instinct for knowing exactly where the closest satisfactory reflection could be obtained, even with her eyes closed. Sadly, for one in possession of such boundless physical beauty, her mind could stand no such scrutiny, for, as is often the case with those who are gifted in one way, they are often deficient in another. It was not that she was stupid, for if she were, she would not have utilised her appearance to such good purpose in obtaining as gifts the material goods that sweetened her charmed life; no, she was the owner of an ugly, cruel mind that saw no wrong in insulting and abusing those who were less perfect that herself. As you would expect of someone so beautiful, she saved her harshest and most vicious opprobation for those who visually offended her delicate sensitivites. No one was spared her constant running critique, even her coterie of acolytes who hung slavishly onto her every poisoned syllable. She denounced with
the ease borne of long practice the tall and the short, the fat and the not-quite-asthin-as-her, the brunette and the blonde, the fashionable and those who were free of such constraints. In short, noone was spared her klieg light scrutiny. Her self appointment as the critic of all things appearance based quite frequently obliged her to offer her opinion on other people in somewhat inappropriate situations. However, she took her responsbilities as the arbiter of beauty, taste and style so seriously that the risks implicit in openly criticising young women in public places were ones she was willing to take. Late one evening, fuelled in no small part by the abundance of free drinks that always flowed so freely to her glass, she launched her attentions on a group of young women who had clearly been having a wild time and were now waiting for a taxi. Initially the women, raucous as magpies, ignored her, not imagining for one moment that the haughty, sour faced, perfectly presented woman was addressing any of them. Exorcised by their lack of regard for her undeniable beauty superiority as she stood ignored by them in the rain muffled night she homed in on one of the happy number, berating her loudly for the imperfection of her legs and the crassness in revealing their offensiveness in public. The sudden silence that ensued following the second and much louder onslaught was only broken by sharp invective from the offended female. The superior smile from the protagonist which met the outburst inverted itself as she saw a flash of metal protruding from an outstretched hand which emerged as if in slow motion towards her. Opening her mouth to scream as though a shriek could defend as adequately as an insult can attack, she was unable to make a sound as the blade easily sliced her perfectly made up cheek. The upward swipe which described a lazy, near perfect semi circle on her face ended when it met the resistance of her aquamarine eye.
Her acolytes had all melted away like butter on toast at the first sign of trouble as did the group of girls containing the attacker at the last and she was left on the murky pavement screaming in agony. Not only the physical agony of the wound, but the agony of the inevitability of her ruined beauty and the knowledge that she now had joined the club she had previously mocked. That of the afflicted.
