Undercover

Undercover


On the surface, one shall find jade colored eyes, hair as black as the absence of light and a demeanor as cool as a winter in Siberia. On the surface, one shall find laughter akin to children at play—the vision of steel monkey bars, crimson swings swaying in the breeze come to mind. On the surface, one shall find pale cheeks caressed by time; the scars visible yet faint like light at dusk.


All these characteristics can be perceived at first glance in viewing of this façade, a mask of sorts that she wears like a maiden of the Venetian Carnivale. She hides, undercover, out of sheer fright. “Will I be accepted?” she asks herself. Her inevitable response always reverberates in the Grand Canyon of her mind: “No, no, no…” she perpetually hears. “Silence!” she internally screams, a mere attempt to muffle her fears, her frailties, herself.


On the surface, one shall find a composed woman, one wearing the perfect outfit of miscellaneous matching items: dark, blue skinny jeans, Gucci logo imprinted sweater, 18 carat white gold bangles. Yes, on the surface she certainly appears to be the vision of contentment. However, she urges you to probe a bit deeper, to utilize all methods available, be it a high-tech camera infused pill, a conversation over caramel flavored coffee, or a strong shoulder upon which she may rest her weighty head; when you do so, you shall find the frightened infant. You shall find scars on her quadruplet chambers, scars caused by an abscess so deep not even Neosporin could heal.


“Is the unearthing of this complex soul futile?” you may inquire. But, she urges you to find worth in this task in the same manner archeologists rejoice in the discovery of remnants from ancient civilizations. She wants to be treasured in this same fashion—she yearns to be coveted like the tablets of the Ten Commandments, the researchers toiling in the Mediterranean sun, salt drenching their olive-toned skin, all in unison searching for the promise of this treasure.


She wants to be treasured.
She wants to be cherished.
She ardently wishes to be accepted.


Alas, you shall soon realize that despite your attempts, despite the orange and white colored buoy you may lovingly throw to her, she will most certainly drown within the depths of this saline sea. Solely she possesses this power of salvation; solely she may acknowledge this undercover infant that has for so long hidden behind a Venetian mask. Solely she may embrace it like a mother does her suckling child.