Grotesque
"Breathe, Honey. It'll be okay. Just breathe through it, okay? Mama's here, I'm always here."
I smiled dreamily. I wished I could keep my eyes closed forever.
"Try harder, honey. I know you got it in you. You're very close, don't give up now. You know we believe in you, your sister and I."
I shivered as the images disappeared.
Too hot. The wooden flooring felt too hot today. When did I end up on the floor? I pulled and pawed at my collar.
I sat up, my throat parched. I could still see my mom and sister when I closed my eyes. I swear I could've touched them if I reached my hands out.
"She looks exactly the same, my mom… And how beautiful my sister is! I should really try her nightly routine…"
"I really need some sleep," I said to myself as I looked around my room. Most of it felt foreign to me. I kind of missed when my walls had to be re-painted because of the constant scribbles on them.
My walls were clean now. This did not feel like home.
Except my box.
I was walking towards it before my mind registered what I was doing. I could see myself in the smooth surface of the box.
How beautiful.
How grotesque.
My fingers twitched as I ran them over my reflection, blood dribbling down. The pool below was growing steadily.
My beautiful box… I can be too, if only I could go in.
I looked at my arms. Surely I can be more beautiful.
grotesque.
I did not understand when mum called me that. I never thought she was grotesque. Her hug was a bit incomplete with only one arm, and she stumbled a lot with only one eye, but she was never grotesque to me. As a child, she seemed perfect to me, just like the other women mum was friends with.
She was beautiful. All those ladies, in fact. Beautiful in a way I never will be. Beautiful in a way I will always strive to be.
I hoped, really hoped. I kicked my arm away so hard that it knocked down my beauty tools on the bedside table. I thought I would go in this time for sure. When is it my time to be beautiful?
I moved to look outside of my window. I looked out at the other boxes and the women in it. They seemed so happy.
So grotesque.
Maybe I'm doing something wrong again? I was oblivious to the stares I got from others when I built my original box. I thought it was beautiful. I could go in it too. Nothing else in the world felt that warm and snug. My hair and skin, whole and full. I remember hugging my box with glee. I was beautiful. Why was it called grotesque then?
I looked at myself. I am doing it wrong, I said to myself. There are so many parts of myself I could fix. So many beauty routines I could adopt.
I thought about my sister Elaine, my stunning sister. She always had the best routine I've ever seen. I remember standing outside of her room, watching her pick at chunks of her own meat and scrub away the blood. She was the prettiest in town. All the ladies loved her, fussed over her whenever they saw her. Never once did she step away from her box.
I paced. I missed the motivation I once got from my family. Am I finally grotesque enough? My hand twitched for my ax.
As I turned and twisted in place, I remembered the woman—the whole woman from my childhood. There are many of them, but her, I remember clearly. She had the most negative reactions. "Sick in the head, the whole lot of you," she used to repeat. I shuddered as I thought about the looks the ladies gave her.
I never want to be treated that way. Ever.
The women around her shrank away like she was plague, leaning into their own groups. I sighed, feeling sad for her. If only she were more grotesque.
My sympathy was very quickly replaced by rage. Women like her love to critique us. My mom and sister—are they misguided then? No! They are beautiful… She… I deserve to have a home. I deserve to feel at home, too. Why should I be denied comfort?
"You know this is your home, honey. You can be beautiful too, just like us."
I was seeing my mom again.
"You don't want to be ugly, do you?"
No, no. Certainly not. Certainly not.
I looked at the box I was given. I once used to wonder where it came from. Not anymore.
Oh, and my legs.
"Surely… surely, I can be more beautiful," I said as I reached for my ax. I smiled at the names engraved on the handle.
"I love you both, mama and Elaine."
I could still see them clearly. Beautiful as ever.
And so, so grotesque.
the pointers for this came from the deep disturbance i had when i saw the return of starve-yourself-for-beauty trends. This piece started off as a social commentary against beauty standards and trends, but eventually turned into.....this. lol.