a tale of Perfection by Sascha Chernesky (16, SF Bay Area)

he never doubted it for a second.
she always knew that she was capable of greatness. one day, they sat her down and told her

​

---

"we shouldn't need to tell you to be perfect"
as though her fate was sealed,
as though she couldn't possibly be anything less.
she wasn't quite sure how to be perfect,
but the thought of asking them,
of seeing their looks of disdain--
she had no choice but to figure it out for herself.
so when she showed them her report card and they smiled, she decided this was exactly what she needed.
this was the road to perfection.
she smiled with them.
but if she was so perfect, she wondered
why she saw only hollow smiles, judgment hidden as sympathy, why her friends weren't happier for her discovery--
if they were jealous, couldn't they just become perfect too?
what she would tell herself is that humans are unforgiving, that their minds are equally as brittle as their bodies,
that, unlike her, they can't always force a smile onto their faces, that, unlike her, they don't always have a reason to keep going.
at first, it was surprising to her,
she reveled in it,
but she soon grew accustomed to her superiority, the road to perfection was over, it seemed.
and the more she thought about it,
the more her smile felt too perfect,
the more her talent bored her,
the more her parents' subtle praise meant nothing.
it was never going to be enough for her, of course not. she needed to know more than perfection.
she needed to be like everyone else.
she needed to become them.
so she spent hours in front of the mirror, contorting her perfect smile until she learned how to frown.
she even failed once,
just to see what it was like.
and it felt amazing,
it felt new.
she earned the smiles of her friends,
a shared experience with someone, finally.
but her frowns were still too perfect.
frowns aren't meant to be beautiful,
they are meant to be visceral, uncontrollable. her failures were still success,
because all she ended up doing
was succeeding at fooling us all.
the infection spreads.
it starts out with a simple word of agreement, a sigh of understanding. someone comforts her for a failure, tries to bring a smile to her sullen face and now she can't stop.
now she sees no other choice,
but to deliver this rationalized humanity,
give them a sob story,
in exchange for a short-lived look of sympathy.
now she sees no way out of the hole she dug herself into. all she wanted is to be understood,
to have a reason to live
beyond the infinite, endless perfection that she could have.
now she's stuck with her choice.
does she regret it?
well, we all have regrets, but it's different for her. she traded a star for a candle.
now she sits, wondering.
did i ever have a chance?
or was i just destined to fuck it up? i never asked for this.
now she decides that it's time, that she is going to smile again. but it feels odd, unnatural,
like she's just learning how.
so she stretches her frown more and more, and she finds a smile,
a smile so convoluted,
a smile so grotesque,
and yet a smile so entirely empty, that they will silently stare,
faces laced with disgust,
pitying their former friend.
and so, with no other choice, she goes into the world, carrying a hell inside her mind,
molded into a simple
:)

​Sascha Chernesky (any pronouns) is a high school writer living in the San Francisco Bay Area. They are an editor for Polyphony Lit and a founder of Mollusk Lit. When they’re not writing, you’ll find them playing flute or piano, or listening to Mitski instead of working.