| A Micro Graphic Novel Project |
| Rebel Without Sex Appeal |
| By mög |
| Cindy does not always feel as sullen as she looks. But sometimes she does. |
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"It's not about the looks, you know. It's about charisma! Smile, and the world smiles with you." You'd shoot yourself, if you looked like me, honey. Looked like me for one day, and you'd have shot yourself till breakfast. |
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Today, for instance. Bad hair day. Trudging through the streets, staring at the pavement, hands buried in the pockets, kicking the occasional tin. Can't carry herself. Doesn't know how to. Sloppily dressed, unclear skin, no make up. Spent full 30 seconds in front of the mirror before leaving. It's not worth the time = I'm not worth the time = You're not worth the time. Insult to the eye. Any complaints? Fuck off. Rebellion? Ordinary retreat. Couldn't compete, doesn't even want to. Put herself out of the race beforehand. Also, it saves energy. What for? |
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| Sometimes Cindy would like to be violent. Kick ass instead of tins. Hit them, beat them, punch them. Tear them in halves, rip off their covers. Knee them in the guts. It's nothing personal. But, oh, all these bellies, soft bellies, hard bellies, round bellies, flat bellies - would make a perfect place for her fist. Not their faces. It's not the fist for the face. For the face, it's puke. Radio-active puke. Choke it up, all that poison inside, puke it all over their face. Cover them in acid. Etch the surface, burn it off, that protective layer of positive attitude, blissful ignorance. Bare them, leave them, exposed. How she'd wish to! |
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Sometimes Cindy would like to be tender. But there are less pictures in her head to illustrate that fantasy. |
| When using public transport, however, Cindy always likes to be polite to elderly people. |
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