cellogirl 34 anti-facade pt.1

We all have experiences daily that rely on our own chosen/given facade. It could be the makeup you wear, the jewelry that adorns you, or even the way in which you smile. People will most likely judge you by this outside form and though anyone's opinion is always worth something, should it be of worth to destroy one's search for personal identity?

This generation is covered in tatoos, piercings, scars, and implants. Yet who is to say that they are any less civilized that a mid life crisis mom who coats on the makeup as if recreating the mona lisa?

has a true life horror story to share with you in two parts and it starts here.

My first written warning
There's never enough complaining to
Satisfy some people.

Dramatization:
You walk into a busy hospital at 2 in the morning. Sunken-faced, bloodshot-eyed, bleeding, crying people Sit praying for God to kill someone in the ER so they can get in next. Your sweet-seventeen-year-old daughter cries because of a splinter in her pinky. You sit and wait and wait and wait for the next available bed. Then suddenly, walking through a cloud of smoke and brimstone, appears the devil. You always thought it was a "he", but you've been mistaken. She works here, at the Mount Carmel East ER. Her hair is fire-red, nails poke through her ears, her eyes are black as oil, her writhing skin covered in red and black clothing, and a thick dog collar adorns her sinewy neck.

You sit trembling in your maroon-plush seat while the "Good Housekeeping" magazines next to you begin to burst into flames. You notice that no one else sees her, so you assume she's put a powerful curse over everyone else, but she can't get you! You have the power of God protecting you from all evil. As she strides across the floor, the freshly-cleaned tiles are stained black where her footsteps leaked evil. Her black eyes never blinking, her hair constantly dancing as if beneath firelight. You watch her every evil move until she is gone from your line of vision and you breathe a sigh of relief, for she has not come for you.

Minutes pass. The room has settled and the air has cooled. You hold your daughter tight in your arms and she cries into her brand new Old Navy fleece jacket. You soothe her by telling her not to worry, everything will be okay, and God and President Bush are always by her side. Then, like a piercing needle through the corner of your eye, you spot her red skin passing through once again. In her hands, she's carrying a flat, black box and behind her are two demons in the form of humans, but with fire in their eyes and black, ritualistic garments. Your eyes open wide as you watch them stride through the waiting room, scanning the on-lookers for their next "patient". Then, she makes eye-contact with you, and stops for a moment. The fear bleeds from your eyes and you know she can feel it. She swipes a toddler from the stained tile and gulps it down in one full GULP!, then walks smiling back into the ER.

second part in next post