The Echoes
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. A famous saying people tend to use to signify that beauty doesn't exist on its own but is created by observers, that the person observing gets to decide what is beautiful. People strive to be "beautiful" without knowing what beauty truly is. People cast a veil of shadow to cast away or hide the imperfections that make them beautiful, to strive to be perfect in the name of beauty. I am Emily Lepidophylla and as I traverse the world and its imperfections, a question lingers inside my head, when did beauty become so ugly?
Chapter 1: The Melody of Lost Identity
In the quietude of dawn, I find myself standing at the edge of the world, where the horizon melts into the sky like an ethereal watercolor painting. The world outside my window shimmers with golden hues as the morning sun peeks through the curtains, but within the sanctuary of my room, a tempest brews. In the solitude space I call home, I grabbed a cup of coffee in my fridge that I bought last night but couldn't finish, reheated it, and paired it up with a pair of slightly burned buttered toast. I glanced at my phone and ignored an important message which will shape my career as a fashion model rookie, instead, I grabbed the TV remote and turned it on for a needed white noise. Unbeknownst to many, I dislike the sound of silence and as much as possible I gravitate to as much sound as I can handle, for in the silence creeps in lurking demons I desperately try to escape. Familiar voices in my head that echo within me, slowly crawling out and ripping me apart by their relentless journey to drag me down into the pits of fire and hell.
"In today's morning news, world-renowned "Face of the Seven Seas"twenty-four-year-old Lilly Rows-Patters has admitted herself into rehab earlier at midnight after an alarming brush of death after years of battle with her own mental health."
The world halted after that, I have known Lilly before her rise in stardom. The first time I met her was in a coffee shop located on the little street two blocks away from my house. I was with friends and she was with hers, the day turned unexpectedly as our worlds collided and our friends turned into one. We shared story after story, drank expensive but dreadful cups of coffee, and forged an unexpected bond. Lilly's beauty was of marvel, she had embodied elegance and poise. I stare at her image, silky black hair. soft petite lips, and catlike visuals. Her laughter, like a gentle breeze, whispered tales of joy, but her eyes betrayed a longing for something more profound. She was a melody of lost identity.
"Lilly Rows-Patters confirmed a month ago in an interview with The Face magazine that the pressure of the public gave her an unhealthy view of eating and problems with her self-image, identity, and beauty."
"Her desire to be accepted led her down a path of self-imposed restrictions. Her relationship with food took an unexpected turn as she began to count every morsel that crossed her lips."
In a sea of thought, the white noise I craved prior slowly descended out of oblivion. In distress following the news, I couldn't touch the breakfast I have made for myself nor sip the day-old reheated coffee. The somber news of Lilly Rows-Patters, made me recall the ephemeral tale of Amelia Cotton and her symphony of agony.
Chapter 2: The Dance of Deception
Amelia Cotton was a famous dancer in the golden years of 1996, she was a famous starlet known by many at that time as "The Girl of the Breeze" for how her body swayed and how she danced. The twenty-five-year-old young woman had claimed stardom after her hit production of "Hit Me with Jazz" and her acclaimed participation in the classical ballet "La Bayadère". Garnering a mass of supporters, she was given role after role, hit after hit, opportunities many artists in her field would kill to have. Amelia was a girl of delicate grace. Yet, beneath her gentle exterior, beneath the glittering specks of dust of stardom, a tempest of emotions raged, threatening to unravel the core of her being. In a world fixated on appearances and impossible standards, Amelia eventually found herself lost in a struggle for self-identity, haunted by the shadows of an unbearing board of producers and affiliates, a mass of public pressure and expectations, and suffocated by the relentless pursuit of beauty. Amelia's soul became a vast canvas, splashed with hues of uncertainty. She wandered through life like a ghost, searching for a place to belong. In the kaleidoscope of society, she felt like a fragment lost in a mosaic, uncertain of where she fits in, wondering if all this fame was worth all this pain.
Each day the mirror reflected a different version of herself, and she became a chameleon, adapting to the expectations of others, afraid to let even a single person down. Her reflection was a riddle she couldn't solve. She longed to feel grounded, to be an oak tree with deep roots, unwavering in the face of storms. Instead, she was a whisper of a breeze, easily swayed by the judgments of the world around her.
Day after day the standard of beauty had gripped Amelia like a vine, slowly constricting her sense of self. She loved to dance in all of its forms, the way it allowed her to express emotions that words couldn't capture is an act she clutched deep within her soul. But in the realm of dance, there were unwritten rules, where bodies were judged on their shape and size. Due to her fame, the spotlight was on her, and the subtle glances and hushed whispers gnawed at her spirit, leaving her feeling like an imposter on the stage.
Amelia's view of consumption began with the faintest whispers. It wasn't an outright rebellion against food; rather, it was a complex dance of deception. Each skipped meal felt like a small triumph, a small control, a way to regain power over the chaos she felt within. The shadows of her struggle lurked beneath the surface, unseen by those around her. Slowly the dance of deception slowly consumed every fiber of her being, until there were none.
The tale of Amelia Cotton slowly drifted out of oblivion as life moves on. She became one of the many cautionary tales like Peg Entwistle and Susan Boyle, their experiences serve as a cautionary tale about the dark side of fame, the toll that fame has on a person, and the pressures of the spotlight people can take.
Chapter 3: A Runway's Cypher Circle
In the midst of shock, I stumbled my way out of my home to run my errands, and in the later afternoon came the calling of my job. As time clicks and clacks, news about Lilly Rows-Patters's condition slowly unfurled itself, and as article after article was mass-produced I find Lilly's case similar to that of Amelia, and that of my own. As a model, my job revolves around beauty and fixate ourselves to the word perfection. We, the models, are like toy dolls to an ugly industry of beauty, if I cannot be beautiful If I cannot be perfect, then I cannot book a job and I will cease to exist. It was difficult at first, just like many I went to as many Cattle Calls and as many Go-See as possible and talked with client after client in hopes of booking just a single one, a single one that can relieve me of the everyday dept of life and its expenses. It felt as if I was in a runway's cypher circle, it felt as if I was in a group of models assembling in a circle and we take turns to prove ourselves at the center of the circle. It was a hellish nightmare I came out of upon getting a callback and booking myself a world-renowned client that can catapult me into fame and stardom.
"Honey, can you close your eyes for me?" I blinked and snap back into reality, I saw Denise, the make-up artist that will be handling me throughout this shoot. I nodded and closed my eyes, but by doing so, the echoes crawled out and seep into me.
In the looking glass of my mind, I perceived a distorted image of myself. I open my eyes and saw the reflection that stared back and seemed to mock me, whispering insecurities that took root deep within my soul. My hazel eyes, once vibrant with curiosity in the photographs of yesteryears, now hid behind a veil of uncertainty. My lithe figure, an epitome of grace, bore the weight of constant scrutiny as I traverse my way to silence the echoes persistent to destroy me. In the mirror I saw herself as a puzzle with missing pieces, forever incomplete.
"Your make-up's done. Go knock it out of the part, sweetie." Denise smiled. I got up from my chair, undressed the robe I cooped myself in, and started to walk towards the set for the shoot. I stood at the side of the set as the production team prepared the numerous pieces of equipment they would utilize for the shoot.
I jumped a little when I felt a hot breath down my neck, I turned around and saw the creative director for the shoot, Earl J. Pickens, clutching a mug half full of steaming hot coffee. He wrapped his arm around my waist and pinched the side of my stomach.
"A little chubby here aren't we?" He whispered, his breath smelled a mixture of bourbon and strong coffee. "Be sure to suck it in when we begin."
My struggle with food began subtly, like a whisper carried by the wind. Meals were once a delightful symphony of flavors, transformed into a battlefield of conflicting emotions. The numbers on the scale became my compass, navigating the maze of self-worth. Yet, I managed to hide my struggles well, letting my laughter echo through the corridors of her existence. I am the embodiment of subtlety, a master of disguising the turmoil within. Or so I thought.
I fell silent, and all I can do was stumble a quick small nod. He unwrapped himself and walked away, leaving me in a state of shock and disbelief. In an instant, the echoes started to spring back up to life. With just a single comment, he brought the lurking demons back to haunt me. They sang within me and in a state of thought everything about that day became a blur.
Epilogue: A Song A Devil Sings
A month later, I found myself drawn back to the coffee shop where Lilly and I had first met. As I step inside, the familiar aroma of roasted beans mingled with the sweet scent of pastries, captivating my senses and evoking cherished memories. My heart yearned for a taste of something sweet, and so I indulged in a small slice of blueberry cheesecake, its vibrant hues of indigo and ivory an enchanting sight upon the plate. With anticipation, I ordered a medium-sized cup of freshly brewed coffee, its steamy tendrils rising like a mystical dance amidst the air. Seeking a cozy spot, I settled near a wall adorned with an assortment of decorations and signs in the theme of the cozy atmosphere the coffee shop has, their hues and patterns reminiscent of joyful celebrations, but the colorful decors couldn't hide the age of this coffee shop, like the aging pages of a beloved book that had weathered the passage of time. Nevertheless, the passage of years had only amplified the charm of this quaint place. Nevertheless, I sat, ate the cake, and drank my coffee. I find myself scrolling through social media outlets to entertain myself and kill the passage of time.
Then, in a minute or two, I felt the sudden urge to use the bathroom. I got up and went to the bathroom. I choose the second stall and used it. It was only a couple of minutes for me to finish. I got out, flushed the toilet, and went straight to the sink and mirror. I looked at myself, the echoes weren't bothering me as of late which worried me, perhaps they had gotten bored and finally moved on. Noticing a stain on my lips, I took a tissue out of my purse and wiped the spew out of my lips.
As the hands of the clock continued their tireless dance, I felt the sudden urge to use the bathroom. I got up and with each step, time seemed to ripple and blur, until I found myself standing before the bathroom door, adorned with intricate patterns, I twisted its knob and went in. With a subtle sense of intuition, I chose the second stall, its door creaking gently as I entered, enclosing me in a private realm of solitude. It was only a couple of minutes for me to finish. I got out, flushed the toilet, and went straight to the sink and mirror. At the sink, my gaze met the mirror's reflection, the echoes weren't bothering me as of late which worried me. Perhaps they had gotten bored and finally moved on. Perhaps they had grown weary of their haunting dance and wandered to distant realms, I pondered. In front of the mirror, I am confronted by a myriad of reflections, each a different facet of who I am—or who I think I should be. My identity is like a puzzle with pieces scattered across time and space. I search for cohesion, for the elusive thread that ties them all together. The mirror reflects the girl who smiles on the surface, but it fails to capture the subtle tremors beneath the facade.
Noticing a stain on my lips, I took a tissue out of my purse and wiped the spew out of my lips. That's when I saw them.
In the reflection came visitors standing beside me. There stood The Girl of the Breeze herself Amelia Cotton, her presence exuding an otherworldly grace, her once-lustrous skin now bearing an eerie hue of purple and pale. Her eyes, once radiant pools of life, now appeared hollow and bereft of light, like shattered glass reflecting fractured memories. Clad in a red satin silk nightgown, she emanated an aura of ethereal beauty, both haunting and enchanting at the same time. Beside her, the now late Lilly Rows-Patters loomed. Her skin mirrored Amelia's pallid hue, her eyes sunken and broken, each breath seeming like a mere whisper of the life she once embraced. Donned in a simple white hospital gown, she clutched a patient alert wristband, a haunting emblem of her what was once her untimely existence. Their gazes locked onto mine with an intensity that transcended the boundaries of the living, their eyes like deadshot lenses that captured the echoes of their past selves, revealing the depths of their sorrows, their joy, and their pains. Though their features remained frozen, devoid of emotion, their presence reverberated with an unspoken narrative. In their eyes, I glimpsed fragments of forgotten tales, the weight of their journeys etched upon their solemn faces.
I steadied myself and said, "Did the echoes got you too?" Lilly bear no reaction, she stood there beside me silent and unspoken. I looked at both of them one more time before I take my leave. Amelia and Lilly, like a person's shadow, followed me out of the bathroom and into the outside world, I exited the coffee shop, and then the echoes slowly crept in.
The echoes were subtle, hidden in the way I fidget with my fingers and avoid eye contact, but it's a relentless force that shakes the very foundation of my being. It wraps its tendrils around my heart like a suffocating vine. It's a constant companion, whispering doubts and fears into my ears fueling the shattered identity I have left within me to shatter itself once more. The echoes in my head are now more relentless, like ghosts whispering in the dark corners of my mind. They tell me I'm not enough—that my worth is measured in superficial terms.
As I walk down the pavement road of a busy suburban street, I glanced at my reflection through the glass of an establishment, and there I saw Amelia and Lilly piggyback riding on my back, whispering into my ears as their eyes spiraled like a toy rattle a baby plays to entertain oneself.
As my footsteps carried me along the bustling suburban street, I glanced at the glimmering reflection of the passersby in the pristine glass of a nearby establishment. There, within the reflection, I saw both Amelia and Lilly, riding piggyback upon my shoulders whispering into my ears as their eyes spiraled like a toy rattle a baby plays to entertain oneself. Their eyes shifted and met my gaze on the reflection and smiled a haunting smile, they continued to whisper and added more fuel to the echoes that haunt me. Another familiar voice echoes.
I smiled as they sing a song a devil sings.