Marilyn / stardust

sometimes she thought of life as one big entertainment show - ten percent scripted, ninety percent spontaneous and ultimately meaningless

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She lived in tv-land, far removed from reality. The people needed her so much in their lives that one day she simply stopped living hers

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The distant lights in perfect disarray resembled constellations, scattered across the interminable cityscape. She stood at her window, mesmerised by its unorchestrated beauty. Maybe the stars were just reflections of the city, she thought. Maybe they were windows belonging to tiny apartments in heaven, every bit as miserable as ours. Perhaps their inhabitants stared wistfully at us each night, our tired souls destined to spend forever wishing upon each others' lonely lights.

She noticed her eyes staring back through the glass and began to study herself as the night saw her. She surveyed her breasts, her hips, her lips - beautiful still - unblemished by the night, but somehow missing some essential quality - lacking some vital dimension, like solidity or density or depth all rolled up into one - she could not quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was whatever immense weight had been slowly growing in her bones for the past six months. Yes, perhaps that was it. She stared at herself as an immaterial apparition, a frail, almost gaseous creature, diaphanous charms already in the process of disappearing. The sight horrified her but at the same time fascinated and excited something deep within her, such that she could not bring herself to look away. Instead, her eyes ventured further to find a world where her penthouse apartment, her penthouse life and all of its trappings were nothing but a mirage - a simple trick of the light. Perhaps that was the real world, she thought. Perhaps that was her real life.