A teenager has a hard time relating to her peers, so she makes one.
She made a person because they all made fun of her. They called her “Scary Mary” because her only form of doodling was page after page of scratchy black squares, and eyes with pits of dark irises and no eyelids. They thought she was weird because she didn’t wash her long, black hair that hung in her face like oiled rope. They thought she was mean because she threatened to kill a cheerleader with a spork. They called her “Scary Mary” because they didn’t know what she would do.
Her grandfather once showed her the tattoo on his arm, and told her stories. “A man made another out of clay, and said God’s name.” She leaned in, her one visible eye staring at him as he told her more. “It came to life, and protected the city, but once the city was clear of any danger, a bad thing happened.” She moved in closer, her eye widening. “It saw two young men, both villagers, fighting with each other in the street. And do you know what it did?” She brought her sweatshirt covered hands to her mouth, and bit at the fabric. “He killed both of them for good measure!” She jumped as her grandfather laughed, long and aching, ending with a heavy cough.
“But what happened after?” She mumbled.
“After he killed those boys.”
“Ah, well, its creator, seeing that this heartless beast could not be controlled, ended him.”
“Got rid of him somehow.”
“How should I know? And get that shirt out of your mouth.” Her grandfather turned the TV on and ignored her for the rest of the visit, but she didn’t care. She only thought about men made out of clay.
They called her “Scary Mary” because she only drew nightmares in art class. Things with too many tentacles and fangs were her usual subjects, but it was different that Monday. They started to use clay in class, but she had a hard time sculpting out sharp teeth and soulless eyes, so she decided to build a woman. Her breasts were firm and high (which Mary’s weren’t), her legs long and slim (which Mary’s weren’t), her stomach flat and smooth (which Mary’s wasn’t), her face heart shaped and pleasant (which Mary’s wasn’t), and her hair was clean and curly (which Mary’s definitely wasn’t). She spent over two weeks slaving on this perfect woman, which was really the size of an action figure, but she poured over its details like a doting mother.
She was so enraptured by her beautiful clay figure that her classmates stopped calling her “Scary Mary” and started to call her “Homo” instead. This made her cheeks burn to no end, and made the students laugh harder. Her face turned red not just because she was attracted to the figure in front of her (who wouldn’t be?), but because she could see no resemblance to herself, and that embarrassed her more than anything else.
The day they fired their clay in the kiln, she skipped school to get away from them. Lately, she felt as if she were going to jump out of her skin, or explode into bits all over her class. She giggled into the sleeves of her sweatshirt. That would be the perfect end for “Scary Mary.” On her way home, she passed by the school just as it let out. No one bothered her as she pulled her hood up and scuttled by, but as she walked down the sidewalk after passing, she heard someone follow her.
That in itself wasn’t unusual, many of the kids lived in the same middle-class neighborhood she did. The problem stemmed from the fact that whoever it was didn’t stop following her down the alley she lived off of, or through the gate to her backyard.
She panicked, jumped behind the tool shed, and watched in horror as a young, nude woman with long legs, and curly hair spun around in a circle until she found Mary. The woman gasped and smiled when she spotted her.
The naked woman lunged at Mary, toppling both of them over in the process. Mary screamed, which was neither loud, nor powerful, and tried to get away. The woman only wrapped herself around her, far too strong for Mary to contend with. She only giggled as Mary fought, so she gave up quickly as the naked woman smiled at her blankly. “Who are you?” No answer. “Where did you come from?” Only a smile. “Are you an idiot?” She didn’t answer, but got up and pulled Mary up as well.
Of course Mary really knew who the woman was. You don’t create an entire being and not recognize it when it stalks you home. But her face went red not just because the naked woman’s breasts were pressing on her own chest only moments before, but she was angry. The naked woman was undeniably perfect, gorgeous head to toe, and if she took her to school…if she took her school…
Mary’s anger rushed away, and was quickly replaced with joy. Her nude creation smiled back even wider than before, and Mary took her hand to lead her inside. Her mother wouldn’t be home from work for a while, so Mary ran the woman upstairs, and took her to her sister’s room. Her sister was in her second year of college, and left a bunch of her clothes behind, so Mary picked out the perfect outfit for a perfect woman. She laid it on her bed, and led her creation to the bathroom. She got her in the tub, and scrubbed her down completely, while the new woman giggled and cooed. She then dried her off, and got her some underclothes, and sat her down in front of her sister’s well stocked vanity to do her hair and makeup. Mary was elated. She watched so many Youtube videos filled with beautiful girls covering their eyes in light pink and smoky black, but all she could manage to do was a large ring of black eyeliner that would smudge and melt down her cheeks by the end of the day, giving the students another reason to call her “Scary Mary.”
She did her creation’s eye makeup perfectly with a sharp cat eye, and well blended eye shadow. She worked on the rest of her face meticulously, consulting her phone once in a while when she couldn’t remember the perfect contorting trick, or how to fix a lipstick mistake. After an hour, she was done, and her creation’s hair, which dried on its own after Mary put a little mousse in, was wavy, tousled greatness. She pinned part of it back, so it wouldn’t lie in her creation’s face, and stared at her work admiringly.
There are no words to how outstandingly beautiful her creation was, and it surprised Mary that she could even create something so glorious. Her heart lifted as the woman turned to look at her with a white, toothy smile. Mary knelt down beside her, and returned the smile. “Can you speak?” Mary asked, and opened her mouth to encourage her. “Like this.” She opened her mouth wider and grunted, and her creation followed suit, making a soft almost squeak of a noise. It was adorable.
“Great! Okay, now say ‘hello.’ ‘Hel-lo.’” The creation opened her mouth and grunted again, but this time it was more forceful, and almost sounded like something. “Come on, you can do it. ‘Hel-lo.’ Use your tongue, that wiggly thing in your mouth.”
“You got it!”
They went back and forth for another hour until her golem knew enough words and phrases to get her by. She then smuggled the woman in her room for the night, and made the creation sleep next to Mary in only her underwear. She wrapped her arms around the woman, and right before Mary fell asleep she gave the creature a name. “Call yourself Gwen.” Gwen’s sparkling blue eyes were closed, but her mouth spread into another gorgeous grin.
“Gwen,” she whispered, and then slipped into a peaceful sleep.
Mary walked on air all the way to school as did Gwen because they were friends. The bestest of best friends, they held hands all the way to the building. The kids didn’t call her “Scary Mary,” “Homo,” or really anything that morning because all they could focus on was Gwen. Mary made her look even better than the night before, and every guy and girl threw themselves at her immediately asking if she was single, where she got her shoes from, what she was doing after school, etc. Even the teachers took an interest, and before Mary could say anything, Gwen was ushered to the administration office to get a schedule and a locker.
As far as Mary could tell, Gwen didn’t say a word and yet everyone was head over heels. By lunch Gwen was at the popular table, and was even rapidly chatting with the cheerleaders next to her. Seeing that perfect face, perfect body, perfect everything talk to the girls who tortured Mary for years made Mary so sick that she found herself taking her full tray to the garbage because she didn’t think she could stomach the meal, or even the rest of that day. She passed the popular table on her way to the garbage when Gwen called for her.
Gwen’s voice, once it got used to her mouth was as clear as a bell and just as sweet. Mary walked over tentatively because there was something in that sweet voice that made her feel sour. The cheerleaders next to Gwen were perky, proud and snickering behind their hands. “Mary dear, please tell these lovely girls that you made me sleep next to you in bed last night with only my underwear on.” The color drained from Mary’s face, and she dropped her full tray, splattering food all over her jeans. One of the cheerleaders screeched.
“Ew, watch what you’re doing, Homo!”
“I hear food isn’t the only thing she likes to eat!” The other cheerleader said. They all giggled, but Gwen’s high, sweet voice was the loudest.
The heat found its way back to Mary’s face, so she picked up the spork that came with her meal, and shoved it into one of Gwen’s eyes. The girls beside her stared at Gwen in horror as she twitched once, cracked, and broke into thousands of pieces of clay.
After that day the students didn’t call her “Scary Mary” anymore. Actually they didn’t call her anything at all, and actively avoided her, especially during lunch. Mary liked it that way because they would never know what she could do.
Photo courtesy of Skitterphoto