I am Beautiful
“I want to be beautiful.” Little Nicky pressed her palms together. “I want to be like a princess. Long hair, beautiful face and eyes like the glittering stone. I want everyone to like me.” The thirteen year old girl stared at the mirror with a wistful smile.
“Who said you are not beautiful?”
“All of them. I have punctured lips and a scarred face. They call me ugly. I have no friends to play with.” She pointed to herself in the mirror. Her brown eyes glittered with the unshed tears.
“Close your eyes.” The mirror said. It had beautiful eyes, eyes of her mother.
“Imagine a girl with a lively face – her beautiful innocence radiating like a halo around her head, bright eyes, which reflects like the sunlight whenever she smiles like an angel, lips like a newborn flower, curly hair enclosing her divine face, her giggles, a music, a melody. Is she beautiful?”
“Yes, she is so beautiful.” The little girl whispered.
“Why are you telling lies? I can see myself in the mirror and I’m not beautiful. I don’t have a beautiful smile or a beautiful face.”
“The magic is not in the mirror, little girl. It is in your heart and in your mind. Think yourself as beautiful and you can be.” She shook her head with a sad smile that stretched across her thin lips.
“People say otherwise.” The girl touched the long scar running from her brows to her lips. It was a dark, angry slash. A slash made by inferno.
“Give them a chance to say something, and they always will. Don’t let them pry your beauty away from you, baby. People judge, but they never know what they really are judging.” The girl bobbed her head. She understood, but she did not.
“When you were eight, there was this terrible fire accident in a local shop. When people thrice your age ran away from it to save their life, you stayed. You stayed, baby girl, and saved a little boy. This scar,” A soft finger touched her cheeks, “This scar is the symbol of your brave and kind heart. It is the symbol of your generosity.” The voice was gentle.
“You are beautiful, honey. It is not these scars that make a person ugly. It is that heart, which makes one ugly. The heart that is so black, which reveals the inner ugliness in the eyes. But you, my dear, you are the most beautiful out of them all.”
“Really?” She looked herself in the mirror.
The girl in the mirror smiled. Her smile was innocent and her eyes, they did glow like the sunlight. Her scars glittered like the streak of the rainbow, unique and exquisite – a proud symbol of who she was.
“I am beautiful.” She whispered and turned to her mother, standing behind her with a fond smile. She hugged her mother and her mother twirled her around and the girl giggled cheerfully, her voice a music to the soul.
“I am beautiful, mommy!”