What if you woke up one day with no knowledge of who you were? This original short story explores how we would feel about our bodies without societal pressure- if we didn’t know our ‘flaws’ were flaws.
you’re not decent [eve]
I’m not exactly sure where I am. There’s a draft coming in from the open window, the sun is shining. I see dust particles shimmer through the air as I throw back the covers. I think I should be afraid, but what I feel is more wonder than terror.
I jump back in surprise when I pass a window. But it’s not a window, it’s a mirror. I don’t recognize me. Who am I? My hair is disheveled, messy ringlets fall out of what’s left of a ponytail. My body feels cushiony and soft and warm. I am pleasantly fuzzy- the sun shines across my hairy legs, wide stomach, full breasts, tufts of hair under my arms. I see lines, like stripes, along my hips and thighs, and more jagged ridges of raised skin. Scars, I think they’re called. There are more stripes on my face- wrinkles, that’s the word. They play along the corners of my mouth and eyes. I always look like I’m smiling.
I am beautiful, I am happy. What a lovely person I must be. I pass into another room, filled with more furniture. I open the curtains to let the light in, as I pass through. The last room has a large tub; it wants me to get in. I run the water until it’s scalding hot, fill it to the brim. I slip in and let the warmth crash over me. What a life I lead. How free am I.
My stomach makes a noise. Hungry, I think. I’m hungry. I climb from the bath and leave wet footprints as I walk through to the kitchen. I open cabinet after cabinet until I find bread, and honey. I toast the bread and put on the kettle and wonder how I know to do these things, but not my own name, yet I do not care.
I take pleasure in eating. The honey is sweet and the tea is hot and the sun is bright and I sit and exist and enjoy. I see a door I must have missed before. I open it and it leads me to the back garden. There are flowers here; it’s green and lush and I smell so many amazing smells. I lay in the grass and soak up the sun until my hair is dry. I make a few noises, humming, and then I hear a voice. I see a face. A man has popped his head over my garden wall.
“Good morning- oh my, sorry,” he says and I wonder why he’s sorry. He tells me I’m naked. Well yes, but is that bad? It is, he says. I need to cover up, he says. I go inside and wrap myself in the robe I saw hanging by the bath.
He shows me the wardrobe, my clothes. Says I need to wear this bra, these panties, says I need to wear this stretchy thing to hold in my stomach, wear these jeans to cover my thighs, and a shirt- but first, a razor to shave my body hair. Clothe yourself, he says. Shave. You’re not decent, he says. He hands me shame.
What an ugly person I must be.
Very interesting…..I am sure Freud would have a field day with this. I would love to know his take on this. I loved it. Keep writing honey….you are very gifted.