People stare. No, men do. Urban or rural, no one spare. They stare.
She was beautiful enough. Her eyes were pretty as well. Her lips were pink and thin, which goes beautiful with her tiny nose. She had a fair skin tone and a beautiful voice.
But still men stare. No, not because she was beautiful.
She made people smile, even at the verge of death. She made people laugh. She made someone fall for her, a boy who loved her immensely.
Still, men stare. No, not because she was a kind girl.
She had an attractive body. Her bosom went down curving down to her belly. Her dress was exposing her legs. Her blouse supported her breasts.
When she became eighteen, she became aware. She felt embarrassed and started wearing formals, which never exposed anything. She became aware and started looking downwards knowing that there are people around her. No, not people, men.
They still stare.
She started crying to the person she loved. He was tensed at her behaviour. He confronted her. But every time she went out.
She developed Scoptophobia. Started hating her beauty. Started hating her body. Started being grossed out of herself.
One night, alone in her room she started tearing her flesh with a scissor. She destroyed her beauty. Her lips were dull, her cheeks were gone. Eventually out of pain and anger, she jumped out of her balcony.
No one looked… No one saw… She IS no more.
Pic courtesy: https://twitter.com/xsadvibesx