I looked down and smiled at her. She was beautiful, a blurred vision, seeming so familiar. My tear rolled down, only to fall on her face and warp the comforting image. It dawned upon me that I had been gazing not at my reflection, but that of the lucent moon, wishing I was as perfect.


Beautifully ugly.

She clenched her fists and wrapped her arms around herself.

“You aren’t perfect. You’re far from it. You’re ugly. You’re useless.” he said, not stopping. “I regret having any  expectations from you.” He hit her again. 

She stood still, quivering, bare with nothing to cover her. Trying to understand where she had gone wrong. 

” You used to intrigue me, but now you don’t. You have nothing that would make me happy.” He hit her again. 

She now slowly unraveled and took a step forward. If he was going to die, he had to die knowing how it feels to be what he called ugly.

“What are you doing?” even while asking this profoundly, he couldn’t look at her.

“Showing you what’s ugly.”

She opened one of her hands to expose a blade that had been piercing through her fingers since hours.
She held his arm with her other hand, which was as red as a poisoned apple, and took him to where he could see his reflection.

He was suddenly numb. All his words had already escaped his now dry throat. He felt fear, something he never felt until this moment.

She drew lines wildly, not quivering anymore.
First his hands.
Then his stunning chest that was his pride.
The side of his neck.
And saved the last for his face.

“You’re ugly now too.”

With these words, she collapsed on the ground, an odd smile on her face. Odd, yet beautiful.
But she never knew.