“Am I... Dead?”

I held up my left  arm against the brightness allowing the light to filter through my fingers bathing my wrist with its golden glow. The cut was no longer there. Baffled, I searched my other arm for the deadly slit but nothing seems to lie beyond the flawless skin, not even the small tattoo that brought me to the brink of insanity. Nothing. It was then when I realised I was standing at the edge of a platform, of a station I have never seen or heard of in my life. 

“Where is this place? What am I... doing here?”  I muttered so very silently, even the wind that blew by could not have heard.

“You’re at the train station of course!” a lady with the softest golden perm smiled at me.

“You...heard that?”

“Heard what?”

“So you did not heard what i just said?”

“Well, your face had always been a big giveaway. No matter the news nor the papers your face has always told the truth.”

I nodded. I knew what this face had done to me as well. To many, it seemed like the work of angels , carved out so delicately for the sharpest of features . However none of them knew how much I hated it, how many times I have stood in front of the mirror with a small knife so that i could just disfigure myself... so that I could be away from the miserable, miserable life. Until yesterday. Another failed attempt to mar my countenance, directed the blade towards my wrist. It did not hurt, not at all. Instead  i felt relieved. No longer do i have to live a life so plastic, no longer do i have to hide behind the beautiful facade, no longer must I be wary of the flickering lights of the cameras around me or worry about what rumours the media had in store for me. I am finally free... from all that wished to catch a glimpse grotesqueness so that they can tear my celebrity image apart.

“Do not fret my dear... It is safe here. You can finally live the life you have always wanted! Trust me its going to be a happy place.” The lady smiled once again, placing a comforting arm around my shoulders.  The smile was not like those I have received. The smile was genuine, and so was the warmth that lingered at the my shoulders.

Arriving upon a bright whistle, the train halt at the  station within wisps of mist. I was the first to grab hold of the sliding door and the first to be greeted by a pleasant conductor whom invited us into the train with much enthusiasm.  

I turned to my new friend, whom smiled to me again amidst her golden curls.

“You know what? This ain’t the end  for us... It is a whole new beginning.” 

The End

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