Girls, Girls, Girls
by Dallas Jones
So there's this place: Room 3A. It has its Beige walls and its course carpets. You'll find it in office building B in the Industrial park. Just off exit 19. It's a bit difficult to find your first time, but it's there.
Then there's the girls: Oh the girls: Eleven counted and all standing in a circle: each one with the same straight black hair. They are all staring at each other like they would in a mirror.
Then there's the phobia:
Autohomotelephobio: [aw-toh hoh-muh tel-ee-foh-bee-uh] n. The fear that there may secretly be a mirror present and one may eventually start talking to him or her self.
Due to this strange fear they all stand in the circle not talking, just staring at one another. One may even look across the room in order to fix her hair or adjust her dress. A sort of--accepted convenience.
This contest, you see, is for girls all trying to be the same girl.
When the door opens in the corner, who would have guessed, but another girl enters. She's tall and thin with black hair--this is the girl that all the others are supposed to look like, the original form. But in fact none of them look at all like this girl. The others are all just striving to appear as some form of the ideal of this girl. Now, she too enters the circle (with much apprehension, might I add).
Again the door opens. Here enters the judge of the contest. He is nothing much to like at, rather, he is a butterball of a man with his proud halo of hair and the off black three --no-- two piece suit. Nothing is said as he takes his place at the center. It was his unique finger pointing abilities for which he was chosen. Its been proclaimed that this finger has an above ordinary knack for pointing.
He points to his first victim; her face spins from smiles to tears. She covers her face and runs out the room. Then another, then another. This goes on until only three of the twelve are left, the original girl included. Then the judge's deciding finger, so slight so accusing, points to her. But wait, she thinks to herself, I am the original; this is a look-a-like contest for me! But it was true; she did not look at all like herself so she had no choice but to leave the circle. She walked to the corner to watch the rest of her proceedings.
It came down to the last two and they waited for the final decision. They held each other's hands and gripped them tight. But it was not their hands that they were holding; those are my hands, thought the original, they do not deserve those hands!
After moments of silence the winner was announced and she jumped and cried and hugged the loser. How could this be, thought the original, how is she more me, than I am? The winner came to the judge and shook his hand. The judge ushered her to the center of the room and motioned for the wall. "And your prize," his voice boomed. A door opened and out came a house, and a yard, and a beautiful young man.
"But that is my house, and my yard, and my beautiful young husband!" yelled the original.
"But you are not the girl we are looking for. We have found a better you that can fill in the missing spots in your life," said the judge. So the new her took her beautiful young husband and moved into her new house. The best nights sleep in the first night in a new bed in a new place. That night the new girl slept the best sleep she would ever have for the very first time.
About the author:
Dallas Jones used to doodle in class before he could write. Then he learned how to write doodles. 90% sure he once was a squirrel.