Model - The Unattainable by Jennifer

The Unattainable

The Outsider

She sits, upright, on her seat with the golden waves of her hair cascading down her back, semi-exposed through the lace of her white evening dress. Even the very air around her dares not to disturb the elegant silence which lies, outstretched, around her.

It is the pensive look in her eyes which draws every man toward her, the melodious chime which rings with her every spoken word. Her attractive, hoarse voice tugs at the strings of every man's heart, pulling them closer ... and closer ... but aside from our fantasies, we can never reach her.

The glint of the morning sun off the cafe window blinds me momentarily, almost like a warning against my meandering mind. But I know that even on this ceaseless bussle of a street there are five ... ten ... maybe even twenty men like me, reaching out into the seducing world of the rich.

Her delicate hands lift the silver spoon which stirs the sweet coffee on her table.

I turn around, lifting a rolled newspaper in my stained hands and throwing it at the cafe window. And ride away.

The Insider

It is the same newspaper boy across the street, the one who faithfully pauses in front of the cafe window every week day. The glass window acts like an impenetrable barrier, blocking me from the everyday lives of others ...

I am almost like a mannequin, pinned up for display in an expensive array of clothes that are meant to be seen ... not worn.

His eyes are no different to all of those who pass me by, an unforgettable but ephemeral longing and desire. Undeniably I am merely a part of their lives in those several minutes they catch sight of me ... but as they turn their backs ... out of sight and out of mind ...

The dirt crusted lines of the boy's hand speak of a journey from north-west, where the water is murky and the hot sand blinding under the scorching sun. He stares at my pale, smooth, loathful hands ... and I can tell from the unmasked expression on his face, his young mouth slightly ajar, that he sees me like the object of this store. And like how it has always been, I sit and am acknowledged as the best ... but once they are given a choice, no one buys the golden girl ...

It is no different with anybody else - for some moments of their lives I sit, the unshared, absolute centre of their attention as the symbol of wealth and elegance. I am flawless - so they say - but the smooth surface of my history pains me, against the profound stories which they all share.

The boy prepares to leave, and the dull thud of his newspaper against the rigid glass window marks another person who has turned away ... left me, alone. Once again I will be the nameless shadow of their dreams ... the unidentifiable essence of their materialistic hopes ...

Author's Notes: I'm sleepy. and I think this is really poorly written, honestly. I'll elaborate some time when I'm awake ...

edit: 508 words. Okay, so I guess I didn't relate to the stimulus very well again. This is a problem. Which I will work on to hopefully bring up my school marks. And now it's dinner. I wonder if I will ever get this note finished ...

edit #2: I intended to relate to the stimulus by making the male persona perceive the female as the symbol of wealth and elegance (like what a Lamborghini stands for haha). I tried to use references to 'mannequins' and 'objects' to make a subtle hint to car displays ... and everyone at those car exhibitions always crowd around the Lamborghini and make it the subject of their desire. But then when it actually comes to a purchase, almost no one ever picks the Lamborghini. And they don't brood over it either. So it's like abandoned in all its magnificence. I was originally trying to tie that in with the lack of a licence plate on the stimulus (lack of identity) and you can see my not-really-worked-out attempt near the end using words like 'nameless' and 'unidentifiable'.

But obviously the above paragraph can not be written to an examiner which will sadly mean I am dooooomed.