The sound of my alarm clock rang through the house. Time to start the process again. I got up, picked a gorgeous outfit from my closet. Dusted my face with foundation, then layered on the eye make-up, and smacked on some lip-gloss. I spent forty-five minutes straightening my hair and then another ten running a slight wave through it. I carefully selected a pair of shoes. I put on the same necklace I always wear, and lined my wrists with bracelets. Finally, I stood back and looked in the full-length mirror on the wall of my bedroom.

My bright green eyes, emphasized by the ridiculous amount of make-up, looked over my impeccable appearance. The small dotting of freckles over my nose - the only imperfection on my face. My dark blonde hair that fell without a frizz down to my waist, and the necklace, with the gold cross on it. I took in my blue lacy long-sleeved see through shirt with the white skin-tight singlet underneath, just outlining my curves in a slightly teasing manner. I winced at the sight of the bracelets, knowing they only barely covered up the scars. I noticed how long my evenly tanned legs looked under the black tube mini skirt, leading down to the defined calf muscles, highlighted by the matching black heels.
 

This is the procedure I go through every morning to hold up the illusion that I am in fact the closest thing to perfect you will ever find. But let me tell you - perfection has its many flaws.