You Think You Know Me
You think you know me.
Just like everyone else. You take a pristine face like mine for granted. You cheer on my beauty, not my accomplishments.
All my beauty is, is a simple façade, a mask worn by the most mysterious of characters. My depleted, stripped sapphire eyes grace you to continue your observation. My long, curled eyelashes beg you to watch. My graceful strides, my fluid motions across the tightrope plead for you attention. But that's all a part of the show isn't it? The moment I remove my mask, you will lose sight of any beauty you claimed to have seen before.
That bouquet of pure ivory flowers, bound to my head by bows is the very mask all of us circus performers possess. I hide the thing that marks me as hideous and ugly. My porcelain skin leads you to believe a treasure grove is hidden beneath those creamy flowers.
More like a graveyard.
Reddened skin, scarred as though as a live flame is licking my skin. An eye, no longer functional, is forever trapped in a partially closed state. What a beauty I would be if they truly saw all of me, not just the charm and the act which I cast upon the audience in order to captivate them.
I'm just the 'cool' princess of the ring with an umbrella and an uncanny ability to walk across a tightrope without a single misstep or stumble. They drink in my performance like predators. They can never reach past the outer shell of my exposed beauty. Because once they see that hideous scar, I no longer retain a drop of beauty.
They think they know me, just by watching a simple, tasteless act. They judge by the appearance of the performance.
Just like big brother says, "Once we step into the ring, we take on a whole new being".
Maybe I don't like it, being someone other than myself. Maybe I don't enjoy dressing up in an array of outfits to please the audience. Maybe I don't like pretending to be who I'm not, even in the background. Have you ever thought of that?
Maybe I'm just tired of being judged with eyes instead of ears. The calculating eyes of the crowd have never frightened me, but the idea of the things they could be thinking of does.
The circus life is a dark, scary place when you live everyday just lying to people. Charming them to believe we are magical is just like lying to their face. Pointless, yet it needs to be committed.
I've never considered leaving the circus life. My family is still tied to the very identity they have concocted for themselves, and I am laced to them; even if they take no notice of the real me, crying out to be save from the smothering mask I wear. I hide it well I guess. I act just like a doll.
Maybe that's why no one has understood, but you understand right? The pain of being evaluated, to be judged, by the simple fact of your appearance alone? It hurts doesn't it? And then you have to resume that cloak of façade the next day, and the days after, with no fault or break in the ritual of lies. I know it hurts me because more than anything, I hate the fact that my injury changes someone's entire perspective on me.
I can still beckon you will my glittering eyes. I can still entice you with my movements, but you will never think of me the same way.
I'm just another circus freak on a tightrope with an umbrella and a bouquet of ivory flowers.
Do you think you know me now?
I don't think your quite there yet, so keep going. At this point, I know you're probably bored, annoyed even. But please hear me out okay?
No matter how much of a freak I hide from others, the rest of my family is not this way. Beast is simply stunning; with caressing lashes that awakens her inner beauty. Wendy and Peter, practically the twins of acrobatics, move in perfect inhuman sync as they execute a flawless performance. Jumbo, his warm heart, incases us in brotherly love. Dagger, his hearty jokes and amazing accuracy drives the praise from us. Snake and his dark shrouded life that provides a great mystery. And finally, big brother, Joker. His flamboyant smile, his bold voice, all tied together in a pattern best suited for the role of ringmaster. Not a hair out of place as he beckons and calls the audience to their feet in boisterous approval. Compared to me, my family is perfect. Not a single imperfection can be found.
My heart flutters at the very thought of having something as dear and precious as a family. What do they think when they see me during a performance compared to when they see me without my trademark flowers and umbrella? Do they see something different, or do they see the same? Do they see beauty or disgust? I just want to feel right about myself, but I don't think they can even see through the very façade of a doll.
The question is, do you know me now?
I'll answer for you: No.
I'm nothing more than a porcelain doll awaiting a polishing performance only to be placed back on my shelf when I'm finished, umbrella in hand and flower in check.
I don't even know if I know myself.
This is my first ever story written in the perspective of Doll. I hope you enjoyed, and please review.
-Soul Spirit-