by Jackie Kramaric
Megan Rose pulls out the rubber band holding up her long gorgeous black hair. She sits in front of her mirror and hums the lullaby her mother would sing to her on rainy days. She pats on her make up, and she becomes the most stunning girl you’ve ever seen.
Except, she only sits there, unsatisfied with her work. She only sees flaws all over. She thinks to herself, “My eyes are dull. My lips are too full. My skin is too dry”. Everyone agrees that she is the most beautiful girl around. They all wish she would, at most, glance in their direction. Men love her. Women admire her. She only stares at her refection with distaste. Every morning she wakes up and takes that rubber band out, sits in front of her mirror, hums that lullaby, and puts her make up on. Every morning she sits and hates her beauty. She wishes she could have the perfect face. She wishes she could love her face. She wishes every morning that she could just be happy. She will never be, because even though she can make your heart beat harder with just one look, she will always wish she was better. And the saddest part of it is that the woman next door wishes the same thing. And the girl down the street and the girl at the store and the girl with the braids and her sister and their mother. Every girl is Megan Rose.