• Saturday, March 07, 2015




Arabella was born on a cold December morning to the town's only doctor and his young wife. Her mother died during childbirth, and the doctor lost the love of his life. As the relatives rejoiced in the much anticipated birth; the doctor drank in the sorrow of his beloved's departure. Thus, Arabella was raised by a bitter alcoholic.
 The girl - she grew up to be the spitting image of her mother. Her long black hair fell in waves down to the small of her back; waves that would put an ocean to shame. Her olive skin, so tanned would sparkle shamelessly under the sun. Her hazel irises glistened each time she laughed or even got upset over the smallest of things. Arabella's nose was petite; the bridge covered in light freckles that complemented her face perfectly.
Arabella's youth consisted of breezy summer dresses and easily impressionable boys. Her cherry-red painted nails and pouty lips let her have her way with any boy she liked. She sweet-talked her way through many candy shop owners and muscular soccer players. Arabella was a tease; she twisted her hair and smirked slyly, she batted her eyelashes more than necessary in the company of young boys and enjoyed catcalls aimed at her. She loved all the attention that she got and built a habit of making the most of it. Unlike her alcoholic slob of a father, Arabella had a quite positive outlook on life. Arabella was the kind of girl who knew how to put her hair down. She wanted to grab life by its limbs and live it to the fullest.
Winters passed and Arabella aged. She no longer invested as much time on herself as before. Her locks of raven hair thinned, and it was like the oceans reduced to lakes. Her previously kohl-adorned eyes appeared weaker having had seen enough to grow astray from her initial love towards life, and the batting of eyelashes worked no more. Her young schoolgirl curves matured into an unshapely body - that of a tired woman's. Her toenails bore no color and her lips dried out, flakey with parched skin. Her forehead looked stretched; bearing wrinkles and creases - scars of a sad life. Her skin was dry and pale.
Arabella was growing up; growing up to be her worst nightmare.
The years hardened Arabella more than she liked to admit. Raised by an alcoholic, Arabella now began to feel the impact that it had had on her. She no longer saw the good in people. Her outlook on life changed and she opposed the views of the younger and more cheery her. Arabella hardly spoke anymore, let alone tease. Her aims had withered away and her witty arguments transformed into stutters. Her admirers faded and a kind stranger every once in a while was a blessing that she prayed for. All the playful chitchats and wolf whistles were now distant memories.
You see, when Arabella's father passed, she was only twenty two. And, the 'dents and scars', as she put it, that his abhorrence towards her left behind never allowed her to truly love herself.

Arabella soon discovered that no one liked the disturbed kind; ones who are damaged. Looking past the perfectly made-up exterior; no one was willing to accept the heartbroken soul that lingered within; the loner that was she.

Published: 12:00 am Thursday, April 17, 2014

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