Walk through this echo gallery. Shadows of individuals rest here, succumbed to their inner thoughts. And while the hall is a secret, the world's critical gaze judges those that reside inside.
Look at this girl. Jackie, her name was. Jackie, the Maiden of Anguish, you might call her now. She's just a statue now. And now, only in her wildest dreams is she human.
And from her rocky face, her dry eyes shed tears of pebbles.
Her face was sculpted from her body, a bust from the rest. The artist; herself.
She only wanted to look pretty for the world.
But now, the curator of the gallery covers them all in silky clothes to keep them from staining.
What's the point of looking pretty if nobody's watching anymore?
But she's not pretty anymore. No, she had a scarring accident. Someone tipped her over while visiting and her face received a fatal chip.
Horribly disfigured, she welcomes the curator's cloth. She might be taken down from the gallery, because who likes imperfection among perfection?
Isn't it sad that beauty is based on chips and flaws and dents?
But now, she sits in a pensive state. She wonders if she could have changed her destiny. Who knew that she would have sold herself to this awful place?
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1 comment:
I like this a lot. It's definitely one of my favorites. I want to hear more about the Echo Gallery and those who reside there.
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