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Description
Growing up is such an impatient time. She looked back to elementary school. Even then she had wanted to get through all of that, junior high, high school - straight to college.

Now there she was, sitting on a bench in front of her dormitory. After the first few weeks, it became very clear that college was yet another transitional phase. A happy phase, but transitional.

She was content. She was learning how to blow smoke rings, that all kids like to talk about is how smashed they'd gotten that weekend; she attended live music shows and galleries and festivals regularly and also had many shots at young artists. Oh, those young men with their ideas that few could appreciate. She loved it all, though. Just like black licorice and pink cigarettes.

But what did she want in the future? She thought. And here is what she decided:

Since she is generally attractive and can be elegant when appropriate, she wants to edge her way into public representation and the world behind it. She wants to go to galas so she can wear evening gowns and clap gently for speakers as she pretends to care about their cause. She wants to wear red lipstick and very little other makeup, black accessories, gloves, and designer sunglasses - not for the status, but to trick people. She would be all about performance - she wouldn't have music or art anymore, but she could pull the greatest performance of all time. A fake life.

And then she thought that she could easily get a rich man to think he loved her. She would think she was in control but she would grow to love him as he grew tired of her. Intimacy means complete nudity to this girl, but this man would love the goddess he put on a pedestal and not the woman behind the production.

She had this all planned out.

She would be very bored after marrying him, she decided. Her sex life would plateau unless she chose to cheat on him; she hadn't planned that part quite yet as affairs are apt to be random. She would realize that her pretend fake life wasn't pretend if she lived it - as she would have been all those years. So she would take the rich-bitch's way out with a pill cocktail and some vintage wine for effect.

Maybe she will wake up in the ICU with lots of little tubes and an elaborate basket of flowers next to an empty chair. That would be alright. Goddesses don't go to the ICU, all the better for her if no one spotted her there in the plastic jungle.

Or maybe her attempt will be successful, and she will go on to unknown things. If she does go on, maybe her performance entertained the Intelligent Designer. If there isn't anything for her to go- we won't know.

Description
Growing up is such an impatient time. She looked back to elementary school. Even then she had wanted to get through all of that, junior high, high school - straight to college.

Now there she was, sitting on a bench in front of her dormitory. After the first few weeks, it became very clear that college was yet another transitional phase. A happy phase, but transitional.

She was content. She was learning how to blow smoke rings, that all kids like to talk about is how smashed they'd gotten that weekend; she attended live music shows and galleries and festivals regularly and also had many shots at young artists. Oh, those young men with their ideas that few could appreciate. She loved it all, though. Just like black licorice and pink cigarettes.

But what did she want in the future? She thought. And here is what she decided:

Since she is generally attractive and can be elegant when appropriate, she wants to edge her way into public representation and the world behind it. She wants to go to galas so she can wear evening gowns and clap gently for speakers as she pretends to care about their cause. She wants to wear red lipstick and very little other makeup, black accessories, gloves, and designer sunglasses - not for the status, but to trick people. She would be all about performance - she wouldn't have music or art anymore, but she could pull the greatest performance of all time. A fake life.

And then she thought that she could easily get a rich man to think he loved her. She would think she was in control but she would grow to love him as he grew tired of her. Intimacy means complete nudity to this girl, but this man would love the goddess he put on a pedestal and not the woman behind the production.

She had this all planned out.

She would be very bored after marrying him, she decided. Her sex life would plateau unless she chose to cheat on him; she hadn't planned that part quite yet as affairs are apt to be random. She would realize that her pretend fake life wasn't pretend if she lived it - as she would have been all those years. So she would take the rich-bitch's way out with a pill cocktail and some vintage wine for effect.

Maybe she will wake up in the ICU with lots of little tubes and an elaborate basket of flowers next to an empty chair. That would be alright. Goddesses don't go to the ICU, all the better for her if no one spotted her there in the plastic jungle.

Or maybe her attempt will be successful, and she will go on to unknown things. If she does go on, maybe her performance entertained the Intelligent Designer. If there isn't anything for her to go- we won't know.