She shouldn’t have been successful. And less still should she have been the one people looked for in a crowd. The one people counted on to make any party wild. She shouldn’t have been talented. And less still should she have been able to move in the way she did. Sliding and twirling as she danced a jig.
You see, people called her ugly, simply because she was rounded in a way society deemed as ugly. People laughed at her and behind her, as though she was deaf to their taunts. But did it faze her? Did it leave soppy patches on her pillow every night? Did it stop her from doing what she loved, even though people wanted her to flee from fright. Fright of their words, that were thinly tipped to be able to wound even the thickest skin.
No, it made her work harder; dance harder; and smile even wider. Because, in her mind, they were all losers. And in her heart, she was the winner – and that’s all that mattered. That’s all, that mattered.
© The Londoner, June 2011