The Prettiest Smile
Everyone always tells me, “smile more,” though I never do. My smile isn’t eye-catching or conventional; it isn’t pretty like hers. I want to be beautiful like her. When I smile, I want to look like her––I want to have her sparkling teeth, her perfect nose, her full lips. I want her cherry blossom cheeks that look like ripe red apples when she grins. Her smile is stunning––it grabs everyone’s attention––it grabs my attention. But, my attention isn’t what she wants, even if she doesn’t know it yet. I am obsessed with her smile; I want it.
I took it to myself to go to her house. It was night. I walked to where she lived; I unlocked the door. I waltzed into the kitchen, and stole my weapon. I strolled up to her bedroom to steal the smile I deserve. She was sewing a dress––it was a gorgeous outfit for a striking girl. She screamed when I arrived in the doorway, but that’s okay, it was a delightful shriek. I’m no surgeon, so what she was left with was a gruesome sight. I forgot to bring surgical thread, so I improvised with the off-white thread she had used for her clothing; the blood stained it.
I took her smile and put it over mine, and I made sure she never told anyone. Even if she wanted to, she didn’t have the mouth to anyway. She isn’t the sight she once was, but she’ll be okay, because she is happy for me; she is happy. She is glad that I have the smile, now, she’s proud of me.
The best part is no one will ever see the gaping hole where her mouth used to be––the sky blue mask she covers her face with will guarantee my eternal beauty. I look just the way she used to be; I have the prettiest smile.
I took it to myself to go to her house. It was night. I walked to where she lived; I unlocked the door. I waltzed into the kitchen, and stole my weapon. I strolled up to her bedroom to steal the smile I deserve. She was sewing a dress––it was a gorgeous outfit for a striking girl. She screamed when I arrived in the doorway, but that’s okay, it was a delightful shriek. I’m no surgeon, so what she was left with was a gruesome sight. I forgot to bring surgical thread, so I improvised with the off-white thread she had used for her clothing; the blood stained it.
I took her smile and put it over mine, and I made sure she never told anyone. Even if she wanted to, she didn’t have the mouth to anyway. She isn’t the sight she once was, but she’ll be okay, because she is happy for me; she is happy. She is glad that I have the smile, now, she’s proud of me.
The best part is no one will ever see the gaping hole where her mouth used to be––the sky blue mask she covers her face with will guarantee my eternal beauty. I look just the way she used to be; I have the prettiest smile.