Beauty Contest
She’d had a lot of work done.
Rhinoplasty, cheek shaving, chin reconstruction, skin transplants where rebuilding wasn’t feasible, a complete re-stretching of the forehead, twenty-two nips, thirty-six tucks, and very painful dermabrasion.
She sported a body that looked like it had come off of some mythical factory’s assembly line. It was gravity-defying with proportions that made every photographer she walked past fumble for their business cards. Artists on the sidewalk offered to sketch her for free, knowing that this sort of perfection wouldn’t pass them by again.
She was still was getting used to the new legs. The counterbalances and well-oiled gears gave her sultry walk the feeling of a metronome. The beauty contest committee did not use x-rays or metal detectors and it was a lucky thing. The judges would have seen that her legs were completely robotic and sheathed with human skin that reacted perfectly and warmly to the touch.
The genius designer who designed and built these one-of-a-kind, anatomically accurate legs was dead now, along with the small army of black-market plastic surgeons who had learned the hard way that there is a downside to taking great sums of money to work in secret for unscrupulous people.
Her body ended at the waist, segueing smoothly into the android legs. While the fork of her new legs possessed genitals, symmetrical and porn-star perfect, they could not feel. Her legs were as foreign to feeling as blocks of wood.
But they looked amazing and that was the point.
The sacrifices she had made for this moment would have driven anyone insane. Perhaps it’s understandable why the massacre happened.
The sway and flounce of her perfect physical features were a little too calculated, perhaps, or maybe deep in the judge’s hindbrain psyche, an animal reflex recognized her as not human and that knowledge added a drop of doubt to her scores. There were two names left to announce. Miss Greece crossed her fingers.
It was time to announce the winner.
The announcer said, “The first runner-up is…...Miss Greece!”
Her shoulders slumped. In her home country, she’d won by miles. Bribes hadn’t even needed to change hands.
“Meaning Miss Italy is the new Miss World!” screamed the announcer.
The crowd went wild, the music started, the girls cried and hugged, and the radiant new Miss World walked forward to receive her crown and flowers.
Miss Greece, the first runner-up, stood and fumed.
There is a moment that even the most naive people recognize on a stranger’s face. It’s that hallowed moment that psychotics experience when any doubt is removed and a true course of action is revealed. Alcoholics like to call it the moment of clarity. Saints call it a revelation. Any person witnessing that beatific expression knows that something extreme is about to happen.
The entire body relaxes, the smile becomes dreamy and the eyes glitter. Miss Greece, sporting that exact expression, slowly reached up to her head.
And tore her wig off.
The nest of snakes underneath came to life, springing forth, panicking in the stage lights and whipping back and forth, flagellating the air with their magical, cursed tongues. They whispered the ancient magic and their glowing eyes started the change, looking about for anyone in direct eye contact.
The lighting designers hit the buttons that made the spotlights turn to focus on Miss Greece's apparent tantrum. They leaned in to make sure that that she lit up the stage and screen. They were the first casualties.
They turned to stone.
The entire studio audience tore their eyes off the new Miss World to look at what was happening with Miss Greece.
They turned to stone.
The other contestants and the announcer turned to look at what was happening with Miss Greece.
They turned to stone.
Anyone who was watching on television as the cameras swiveled to get a shot of what they thought was a beauty queen’s nervous breakdown leaned forward to get a better view.
They turned to stone.
All in all, nearly three million statues were created in that instant over the world.
Miss Italy, the new Miss World, had her back turned to Miss Greece and was the only one to not be turned to stone. She slowly stopped waving to the suddenly-silent crowd.
She laughed softly to herself when she turned around to the furious Miss Greece. She took in the snakes that were waving wildly atop Miss Greece's head and cast her eyes down the expensive, manufactured body with the eyes and practiced frown of someone appraising a new car.
“Really, Medusa, when will you ever learn?” said Venus. “You will never be as pretty as me.”
She walked out of the silent, television-studio mausoleum with her flowers and her crown and flew up into the sky.
Medusa stood, mascara running, missing her reptilian body, surrounded by death as always, defeated again, and she cried. The dripping venom of her snakes mixed with her tears.
Her tiny sobs echoed through the hall.
tags
Rhinoplasty, cheek shaving, chin reconstruction, skin transplants where rebuilding wasn’t feasible, a complete re-stretching of the forehead, twenty-two nips, thirty-six tucks, and very painful dermabrasion.
She sported a body that looked like it had come off of some mythical factory’s assembly line. It was gravity-defying with proportions that made every photographer she walked past fumble for their business cards. Artists on the sidewalk offered to sketch her for free, knowing that this sort of perfection wouldn’t pass them by again.
She was still was getting used to the new legs. The counterbalances and well-oiled gears gave her sultry walk the feeling of a metronome. The beauty contest committee did not use x-rays or metal detectors and it was a lucky thing. The judges would have seen that her legs were completely robotic and sheathed with human skin that reacted perfectly and warmly to the touch.
The genius designer who designed and built these one-of-a-kind, anatomically accurate legs was dead now, along with the small army of black-market plastic surgeons who had learned the hard way that there is a downside to taking great sums of money to work in secret for unscrupulous people.
Her body ended at the waist, segueing smoothly into the android legs. While the fork of her new legs possessed genitals, symmetrical and porn-star perfect, they could not feel. Her legs were as foreign to feeling as blocks of wood.
But they looked amazing and that was the point.
The sacrifices she had made for this moment would have driven anyone insane. Perhaps it’s understandable why the massacre happened.
The sway and flounce of her perfect physical features were a little too calculated, perhaps, or maybe deep in the judge’s hindbrain psyche, an animal reflex recognized her as not human and that knowledge added a drop of doubt to her scores. There were two names left to announce. Miss Greece crossed her fingers.
It was time to announce the winner.
The announcer said, “The first runner-up is…...Miss Greece!”
Her shoulders slumped. In her home country, she’d won by miles. Bribes hadn’t even needed to change hands.
“Meaning Miss Italy is the new Miss World!” screamed the announcer.
The crowd went wild, the music started, the girls cried and hugged, and the radiant new Miss World walked forward to receive her crown and flowers.
Miss Greece, the first runner-up, stood and fumed.
There is a moment that even the most naive people recognize on a stranger’s face. It’s that hallowed moment that psychotics experience when any doubt is removed and a true course of action is revealed. Alcoholics like to call it the moment of clarity. Saints call it a revelation. Any person witnessing that beatific expression knows that something extreme is about to happen.
The entire body relaxes, the smile becomes dreamy and the eyes glitter. Miss Greece, sporting that exact expression, slowly reached up to her head.
And tore her wig off.
The nest of snakes underneath came to life, springing forth, panicking in the stage lights and whipping back and forth, flagellating the air with their magical, cursed tongues. They whispered the ancient magic and their glowing eyes started the change, looking about for anyone in direct eye contact.
The lighting designers hit the buttons that made the spotlights turn to focus on Miss Greece's apparent tantrum. They leaned in to make sure that that she lit up the stage and screen. They were the first casualties.
They turned to stone.
The entire studio audience tore their eyes off the new Miss World to look at what was happening with Miss Greece.
They turned to stone.
The other contestants and the announcer turned to look at what was happening with Miss Greece.
They turned to stone.
Anyone who was watching on television as the cameras swiveled to get a shot of what they thought was a beauty queen’s nervous breakdown leaned forward to get a better view.
They turned to stone.
All in all, nearly three million statues were created in that instant over the world.
Miss Italy, the new Miss World, had her back turned to Miss Greece and was the only one to not be turned to stone. She slowly stopped waving to the suddenly-silent crowd.
She laughed softly to herself when she turned around to the furious Miss Greece. She took in the snakes that were waving wildly atop Miss Greece's head and cast her eyes down the expensive, manufactured body with the eyes and practiced frown of someone appraising a new car.
“Really, Medusa, when will you ever learn?” said Venus. “You will never be as pretty as me.”
She walked out of the silent, television-studio mausoleum with her flowers and her crown and flew up into the sky.
Medusa stood, mascara running, missing her reptilian body, surrounded by death as always, defeated again, and she cried. The dripping venom of her snakes mixed with her tears.
Her tiny sobs echoed through the hall.
tags