Silhouette

Summary

A reflective narrative exploring the protagonist's struggle with self-perception, social acceptance, and the quest for personal identity.

Abstract

The narrative delves into the protagonist's internal conflict, beginning with the meticulous preparation for a social gathering. Despite the effort to fit in, the protagonist feels out of place, grappling with insecurities about appearance and the fear of not being accepted. The story unfolds with the protagonist's encounter with a man at a bar, whose interest seems to shift the atmosphere. However, the protagonist ultimately feels unseen, leading to a retreat into solitude. The protagonist finds solace in nature, reflecting on years of perceived victimhood and the desire to break free from a cycle of self-doubt. The narrative culminates in a moment of self-realization beneath a tree, where the protagonist acknowledges personal beauty and strength, regardless of others' opinions.

Opinions

The protagonist experiences a disconnect between their desired self-image and societal expectations, particularly in the context of a social event.
There is a sense of alienation and jealousy towards those who seem to navigate social environments with ease.
The protagonist perceives a shift in the room's atmosphere upon the arrival of a man, highlighting the impact of others' presence on self-perception.
The protagonist's self-worth is challenged by the perceived indifference of others, leading to feelings of invisibility and self-sabotage.
Nature serves as a sanctuary for introspection and emotional healing, providing a space for the protagonist to confront their insecurities and affirm their intrinsic value.
The protagonist recognizes the need to escape a cycle of negative thoughts and societal pressures, seeking to embrace their true self as symbolized by the silhouette against the moonlit sky.

Silhouette

Photo by Jaida Williams

The hot pants look trampy with the platforms so you change into your mellow parallels. You increase the weight within your clutch bag with a tin of Cocoa Butter. No payment needed for the bag, you seemed to snatch it for free. A last glimpse in the mirror. The embroidered trim flourishing upon your top does not quite embellish the waistband of your trousers. Your stomach is hollow, which you like, the lack of a sunlight tan, you wretch. You founder the stairs and place your head into the living room. Your mother pulls the edges of her cardigan together by way of creating a statement. You release down the driveway. The wee ones are down at the creek, creating a dam or hurting one, their shrieks traveling across the fields to you. The young fun. The heat has been building all day. The cement is boiling beneath your feet, sundering into dirt and chips of modernization. The lengthy preparation to leave your quarters has now failed, all for nothing. Shoes become greasy-looking and hair wet.

The front door is propped open with a brick. Welcoming. The others are already present, nursing jewels with makeup , laced with uptight personalities. Gin and pink. Clutch high. They will not like you. You must look like them, hence the effort before.

The top has placed itself up your back. In profile, this man witnessed, is by far gorgeous, but then he twists on his stool. You see the heavy lid of the eye that is shut. You think he’s admiring you. Everyone is looking at the doorway. Silhouette. The bulk of him crossing the room to the counter.

Something has shifted in the air.

The man smiles at a distance. A jacket, too heavy for a summer night, question it. There’s a shine of sweat on his mustache. It’s an evening for a few.

You vanish. Self- sabotage.

Run your hand down the glacial, shrub bark as you grip the walk home. Far gone within your mind, deem toward the tree.

How many years has it been? You are intimidated by those that do not accept you. Jealousy; maybe it is, yet do not crash. Six, seven years you have had to fall victim to repeated actions and thoughts. Over and over, until one can cogitate absent. Only hearken. The luminescence of the full moon, your true presence hides. Float in the wind so appealing, so clear and lovely.

In your hand you clench a piece of paper, crumpled and smoothed, again and again. Slightly worn, yet a memory. Never to be a lost treasure. Trace the words, familiar writing etched within the cache. Gazing upon the words, emotions overwhelm the mind, entrust within this poem, this piece. You labeling the title; Silhouette. A note you intercepted from the evil. The wicked dangling the easiness of social life within inches. Yet, you never seem able to catch it. There is only one route during this forever trip; becoming a victim.

Skimming down beside the tree, gaping upon the darkness with a clear mind. Inkling. Feeling the brushed wind, water seeping into your clothes. It is chilly. The soul heats you from the inside — radiating warmth and love to any and all. Flame of moths. Content to share vibrancy. A distinctive light tread crunching throughout the frost, a lifting voice singing a sweet song. A false fabrication of the mind, pause for a moment. Look up. Warm, brown irises seem to appear in front of your witness, as breath fogs within the cold. Lungs cease the flow of air, only to hear the night. The painfully silent night closing in around. Devoid of all life, but yours; empty fields.

Once again, you lean against the tree, quietly laughing. After this time, you seem to be fooled by your own thoughts to an extent. Pretending. A heavy heart, you promise to vanish from this vicious cycle. Find the silhouette. Footsteps retrace your path, looking once more to the lonely tree, silhouetted against the backdrop of the full moon hanging low within the sky. Reach out and touch it.

And from your mouth, you breathe the final farewell. Despite the opinions of others, you are beautiful with a strong purpose in this life.