Fickle Creatures

• Michelle Bui, Grade 11, Bonnyrigg High School
• Short Story
• 2021

Finalist in the 'The Write Note 2021' competition

Within the walls of the homes of the nobles, girls with adorable and heart-warming smiles would happily hold little dainty teacups, in silent content of sitting down on luxurious red thrones. Left hidden from the glows of the sun, they would mingle within the rooms decorated in beautifully bright sparkles of gold glossing every wall and door. They would be dressed in the finest of glistening jewels, and an alluring dress so fair that people couldn’t help but stop and stare, making the girls look so petite and irresistible against the thick and warm lace fabric. The lack of exposure to sunlight would show on their exquisite snow-touched skin, as the corners of their eyes crinkle in pure joy with every human interaction they encounter, butterflies buzzing within. They would beam with sparkling optimism and infectious happiness.
Happily they sipped on warm fragrant tea in silent content, dying multiple times over, yet not even death could grace their bare skin with wilted buds. Their faces were confined to a single moment of youth, strokes caking their faces, a touch of beauty would never hurt. These were the children who were destined to die as beautiful doll-like vessels of youth, for eternal beauty and happiness is a truly wonderful blessing. Never a curse, because true beauty and happiness can never be defiled. It was as simple as that as it has always been from the start.
They truly did live a life of happiness! Wouldn’t you agree?
Of course, there were always people who would have the lower end of the stick. Those of the lower classes could only learn despair, no form of luxury in their life.
The bodies of the common girls bore filthy rags, rough on their skin, no protection from cold whispers. It grovelled on the floor, on hands and knees, bones that dug into their flesh, foraging and clawing for anything to eat. It would sleep on the ground, cold and gritty, extra cold because of the night. It forever worked in the presence of the sun, like the beasts of the land. Its body was aching, crying, dying. A glued frown on its face, a quip on its tongue, a growl in their throat. They were forced into survival, working together in staggered sync, fatigue burning their eyes. They woke up at the call of the blazing sun, tending to the few scarce crops they had, the ground so coarse and dry. Barely enough food to go by, not enough at all. Children had died. Adults had died. Elders had died.
It was never-ending. The pain would never end. No one would ever stop it.
Malnourishment. Exhaustion. Fear.
It was truly a pitiful life…
Those who are happy despair at happiness, yet those in despair craves such happiness. Humans are such fickle creatures, wouldn’t you agree?