In this third installment of The Lint Screen’s exclusive exposé on the mannequin community, a previously silent voice comes forward to tell the unvarnished truth of a life spent still.
“I see them across the way–– the young ones dressed in their Haute couture. They are so pretty, so sullen, beguiling and provocative.
Their skin is hard, not a wrinkle. Their eyes prisms to a bright future, one not clouded by the ravages of the years or concerns of what this cursed profession does.
But here I stand, hunched as a testament to the truth. I am a cold slap of reality across their pretty, firm faces.
Time has taken its toll on me, my better days behind, my future mired in doubt and the constant pall of depression and worry.
I am a sentry at attention as humanity passes by barely casting a glance, immune to my once irresistible beauty and charm.
Here stand I, alone. A remnant of what once was. The faded tail of a comet seeping into inky darkness. I sport fashions for the vericose vein set. I do not delude myself; I am a sad shadow of my former self.
Do not look away, my pretties across the way–– cast your stares into your inevitable futures! Look into my face and be absorbed by the tragedy that is time. Come and bear witness to its cruel effects. Your days will come, they shall.
For now, I work, until the maker comes for me to place me in the basement or attic with the others who have served their duties on this mortal coil, only to become discarded, poor souls in a perpetual state of anguish and despair.
Where, I wonder, where is my Obamacare?”
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