Imperfection

This is a (very) short story which I wrote a few years back for school. However, it is only becoming more relevant as the trend towards cosmetic surgery and the search for aesthetic perfection grows. You only have to look at today’s batch of celebrities to see how crazy it has become. It is very rare now to find a celebrity who has not had some sort of alteration to their body. As they become skinnier they are becoming more plastic. I mean, many celebs are unrecognisable to what they once were, and this inevitably steals from their beauty. So here it is; a glimpse into the future. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it makes you think.

The receptionist gave me an awkward look as I crossed the vast white expanse towards the outside world. My request had shocked everyone and the pretty blonde was still questioning my sanity. The people working at this facility were not used to granting wishes the likes of mine. I returned her gaze with a smile before passing through the great metallic doors into the world of glass and skyscrapers beyond.

The warm gust of air hit my face like a wave hitting the beach. It was mid June but due to global warming cold winters had long since been a thing of the past. Society was now paying for the decisions made by industry hundreds of years ago.

As I made my way through the crowded street I studied the faces in the mass of bodies. Although each face was different they all had one thing in common, each was flawless. Cosmetic surgery had advanced in modern times and meant that no-one had to look any older than thirty. It had become almost unheard of in recent years for anyone in a developed country to die without being a good looking corpse.

As I continued walking only the eyes gave them away. Their eyes had seen too much for their faces. The tired blank stares made them look mismatched somehow, instead of sitting lively on their faces, their eyes seemed to hang limply in their sockets. For these people perfection did not make for happiness, in fact perfection had brought these people no more than a feeling of discontentment and a longing for more. This was a world dictated by the harshness of beauty, where the image of age was now no more than some old photograph turned up and yellowing at the edges.

Moving through group after group of city dwellers, the story was always the same, picture perfect faces vandalised by lifeless eyes. The only movement visible was a brief glance in my direction before quickly returning to their previous state of depression.

Passing one of the many buildings I caught a quick glimpse of my reflection in the shimmering glass. The figure looking back at me was different to everyone else. The newly wrinkled skin sat softly across the face, the eyelids drooped slightly behind a pair of thinly rimmed glasses, and the short grey hair sat back in gentle waves. The woman looking back at me from the window smiled and continued walking.

Perfect, I smiled. Imperfection is perfect.