Plastic. That’s how they described me. All those desperate size 12s spitting ugly words of ‘silicone syntheticism’ and ‘damaging role model’ at me. They're jealous of a perfect size zero, of all the curves and none of the wobbly bits, of a perfectly toned, tanned body, of all the fake eyelashes, nails and fur coats. Every girl wanted to be me. So how did it come to this? Thrown out with the trash, dull plastic eyes obscured by household detritus, as the little girls grow up, and don’t want me, or my pretty pink dresses, in their toy box anymore.
by Phoebe Toothill (17)
Richard Huish College, Somerset
Competition - Mini Monologues
Copyright remains with the author.