Pedestil

Creative writing: 98%

He raises her high. On his pedestal she stands. She looks like an angel. Her hair, her eyes, everything is perfect. She’s a beautiful being to behold. He creates this image of her as a goddess, keeps raising that pedestal higher and higher for her to climb. But he doesn’t notice...

You know that girl. You know that boy. You’ve seen them. You know them better than they know themselves. You know everything and see everything. The boy is blind. Not by technicality, but by figuration. He doesn’t see the girl; the real being behind the mask of beauty he so delicately painted for her. He’s too blinded by the love he has for her. A love he might be forcing on himself. Nobody knows why he loves this girl. Not even you. He crows her with his illusion of adoration. He’s infatuated by her, by this monster…

She’s a beast, an ugly being from the earth. But he can’t see this. Behind his well crafted mask of loveliness he worships so much is a terrifying creature that no one can dare look at, for fear of her repulsiveness. Grotesque. Her heart is made out of worms and mud but her soul is that of a teenage girl, longing for acceptance. She has no warmth. She is only cold. A zombie to the feeling of being wanted, she follows him, climbing his pedestal, trying to shed her skin and be his angel, though she knows she cannot.

You watch her climb; see how she struggles to be everything he thinks she is. She’s trying so hard, and you pity her. As she climbs, you follow as a shadow, unseen by her bloodshot eyes. When she cries, you cry and when she hurts, you hurt. You are like her in so many ways, climbing that pedestal, trying to be his princess; his everything. You know every single feeling in this monster’s disgusting heart. You watch as she struggles to break free of her monstrosity, to be that girl on the top of the pedestal in his heart. And you try to be that pedestal goddess too. You long to be the one he dreams of, that imagine painted in his mind. You want to be that idol too.

For you are that girl. You are the monster shedding her skin, trying to be perfect for him, your prince. You endure so much; strive through many things, longing to be his illustration of divinity. It feels like forever, as you climb. Your coldness melts, and the worms in your heart die slowly. Its hard to breath, everything around you spins. But you don’t give up. He raises you high. On his pedestal you stand. You look like an angel. Your silky long hair, your sparkling icy eyes, everything about you is perfect. You’re a beautiful being to behold. He creates this image of you as a goddess, keeps raising that pedestal higher and higher for you to climb. And you do climb it, never looking back, you change for him, peel off your face to replace it with the mask of beauty he so gracefully crafted for you.

As you reach the top you pause, thinking. Is this really what you want? To be just another pretty face. Do you really want to change for him? Yes you love him. You know that you love him so much, he makes you feel amazing. But you wonder, if he loves you, would he want you to change. You want to change for him, but you’re puzzled. Should you have to change? Can’t he just love you for the beast you are? Slowly you fall from the pedestal, so high in the sky. You fall from his grace, becoming once more that creature you are. But something’s different. You don’t look the same. Your appearance change, but you didn’t. Simply, what happened was you shed the mud and gunk. You saw the truth. Your once greasy dead hair is now silky and full of live. Your old coal eyes are now a chocolaty hue. You are not a monster. You are an average girl. Sure you’re still cold and can be a total witch, but you are yourself, longing for acceptance. You don’t want to be the angel on that pedestal but instead that angel wants to be you. You are not perfect, like the beautiful idol upon his pedestal. But you are the one he loves. Not for your looks, but for who you are. And that is truly all you ever wanted.