Dont Judge Others Til You Walk In Their Shoes
I Thought I Knew
A short story
By: Nikki Beast
Look at them. Born blessed. They have it all, don't appreciate nothing. I'm trying to pay attention. The underpaid, overworked, devoted teacher struggles to give a long, unentertaining lecture, filled with unknowing, useful information. They could care less. The stars didn’t come to learn. They came to do what they do best. Impress. With their unique looks, costumes, rehearsed acts, useless news, and perfect lifeless beauty. They come to be the stars. All attention must remain on them. If not they become no one, normal, sensitive, weak, attentive, unattractive. Faded useless beauty. Their talents can be learned and worthless. Their skills fade behind their stupidity. Using their popularity and friENDship as a fake reward, to those who are intelligent and too concerned with making world changing decisions.To those who don't have time to play in the mirror, every morning and evening or to wear a mask to hide the truth of ignorance. The smart, yet naive one's are writing their essays, passing their tests, giving them the answers for nothing. The same answers to questions that required the smart ones to read thick books, look up meanings to every other word, take notes, form groups, put together/ take apart, research, sacrifice childish enjoyment, to get satisfying results. They paid for those answers to give to someone who didn't value those answers. I just knew they were born blessed. Getting more attention for circus acts like balancing a ball or dancing like fools than those who created and innovated all of earth’s tools. Life to them was easy.
Until one day I asked myself how hard could it be. Tried it myself. Like makeup. I grabbed foundation, eyeliner, lipstick and shadows. I did my best to look like that witch….. Her name doesn't matter. I practiced my strokes and played with the colors. Put it all where it belonged but my reflection was horrific. Harder than I thought. I found myself researching, mixing things like a chemist, but I looked worse than a clown. I should try something easier. Like fashion. I flung open my closet and grabbed my best attire. I mixed and matched pieces to come up with a style that would wow them. Entice them. My new drooling crowd. I got curves like a model now this was my niche. When it was done I put it on. The mirror said I did not look classy. More like a whore. A cheap desperate whore. Tried it again, now I looked like a mother. Not an attractive one. The one who you were embarrassed to show to your friends. Like the drunk one who thought she still had it. Man ok. I know what. How about gymnastics. I almost broke my legs. A cheerleader, nobody even had to tell me I shouldn’t dance. Sports it is. It's hard to dribble the ball using one hand and it took a thousand shots before I made one basket. I got it. I can rap. Poetry was something I do in my sleep. I excitedly ran to my room cut on a beat. All my lines was weak. I couldn't stay on key or come up with a hit chorus, and my singing sucked. It was going to take practice, dedication, determination. I had to master these things first and then practice more to beat the competition. Then I realized I had to be even better to keep the audience attention. I owe them an apology. It was very difficult. I thought I knew!