the purple lake

Mariko stared deep into the purple lake behind her house. 
She loved how the ripples tore her image apart. Over and over again. 

The purple lake was her secret place. Her hiding place. 
Away from the frivolity of life. 


Her sisters Aiko and Leiko could never understand her. 
As children, they would jump for joy during their weekly market excursions with their mother, who would let them try on beautiful dresses and once in a while, let them buy some during special occasions.



Mariko would always politely decline the invitations, and stayed in her room while her sisters gushed over the new outfits. 


When their mother first allowed them to use makeup, Leiko immediately ran in excitement to the nearest drugstore to buy the special glue to turn her single eyelids double, while Aiko grabbed her mother's used powders and lipsticks and turned herself into strange looking geisha.


Mariko would smile and give her sisters compliments, but turned back to her computer and listened to her soulful music. 


Yes. Aiko and Leiko couldn't understand her. And Mariko knew.

But it was simple really. 
Mariko didn't think herself as beautiful. 
She never was. And never would be. 


She took the penknife out from her pocket and gently touched the tip onto the delicate skin of her inner arm. 


The drops of blood dripped into the lake and ripped Mariko's image apart again.  
Over. And over. Again.

It was the only peace she knew.