Afterimage

FLASHES-

from multiple cameras, captures my movement in succession… The evanescent photons, bound by law, spread across my retina and fuse with receptors. I close my eyes to pinpoints of light lingering on the dark, blank screen of my eyelids. They sparkle in and out of existence but eventually fade to nothingness - until the next flash occurs…

CONCENTRATE-

on what I'm doing. People are not aware that I'm not in the moment... I drag my physical form here in order to feed my insipid life. I think I would rather be watching paint dry.

FEEL-

the warm-bloodedness of my bare feet contrast against the cold, sheik, marble runway as I engage in my routine of appearing glamourous. It's what they want. It's what they are here for.

DAZZLE-

them with confidence - it accentuates fashion and the Avantgarde bouffant I spent two hours undergoing. The image portrays the elite, the artistic, the particular, the lonely...

AVOID-

any meaningful eye contact with the crowd. To them, I am just a walking mannequin with no feelings of my own; an ambivalent robot, fluent in making garments come alive - appealing to interpretive eyes.

AVOID-

breathing or opening my mouth even a little. The pungent vapor of expensive perfume slathers my tongue. The ubiquitous stench attaches to oils on my skin. I can already envision the amount of scrubbing it will take.

AVOID-

listening to the inarticulate sounds of discussion coming from spectators. My ears create a roadblock, they don't want my brain to know what’s being said.

Her forehead is too big... Look how skinny she is... I've seen her naked before...

Ninety seconds stretches forever, when the only thing I care about is the comfort of the Hilton.

I can see backstage getting closer and closer as I cross my step over and over. Don't rush though! The hands that feed expect perfection. All their hard work will be critiqued while all my hard work is an afterthought.

The flashes continue, even though my back is turned against the judgmental faces.

Another mannequin is already walking out in front of me. I know this one well. She is beautiful, unique and underrated. Our eyes meet, but we don't dare break character; the hands are watching... It's her stage now. The flashes speed up once more...

I will face the Catwalk again, in another city at another time, where the gurus compete for notoriety. This is what I do... My soul lives in a gray area, wondering if I'm proud or if bliss is taunting...