PARIAH TO PHARE

 

She sits and stares, motionless, till the tears begin to drop from her eyes.

Her moans of pain are not heard. She swallows them and though the lump is thick in her throat, she doesn’t dare let it out.

She wonders about her choices, if she really screwed things up or if indeed she is where she ought to be.

She never really was given a chance. She never really had what she wanted. Taught contentment and humility she had had to suck her needs and pride back to be accepted, wanted, and tolerated.

She hates that she is still not content, not that she complains about it but her heart knows, when she see those object displayed as treasures to show comfort and affluence.

She seeks to look affluent. To want what others do. To have what others do but she dares not speak of it. She remembers content.

She builds up a character around it. She really doesn’t like glittery stuff anyway or gold, doesn’t match her skin colour. Her crude gadget does all she needs and social media only distracts. Does it not?

Gradually these excuses become her and she grows to realize the bunch of others having it, don’t know why they do. They have become robots, getting what the times tell them they should have without asking questions.

Her inability to blend had made her different, distinct, and classic. She smiles at last; maybe her nothingness wasn’t a bad thing after all. It had fetched her something not bought, no price tag. Something unfathomable; Phare