Perfection Is An Illusion Novels & Stories

"Even his body isn’t perfect. Filled with scars and wounds." His words were gentle. Too gentle. I gulped as my gaze fixed on my knees, the fabric of my pants blurred beneath the weight of my thoughts. It’s okay. It’s okay. "Being perfect doesn’t mean it has to be flawless. Perfection is a shattered mirror—broken in places, but still reflecting a flawless image if you know where to stand." I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "So, please don’t talk like this about Ace," I added, my voice quieter, my stare still locked onto my trembling knees.

“Not because she’ll scrub floors, but because she must judge them.” So I polished silver. Dusted bookshelves. Made a bed so tight you could bounce a coin. Ironed silk until it gleamed. At one point, a vase slipped from my hands and shattered on the floor. I froze, waiting for rebuke. But she only said, “Perfection is not the absence of mistakes. It is the silence that follows them.” So I knelt. Gathered the shards. Made no sound. By evening, every part of me ached.

"I-I just wanted to listen to Rowena." She gave him a small smile which felt like a sign of appreciation. Then she sighed and continued. "After graduation, everything felt... good." She paused, looking around the table at them once again. "I felt really happy. Everything fell into place. But... at that time, it suddenly felt like it was too good to be true. Growing up, I've learned that nothing lasts forever and everything isn't what it seems. I just kept thinking that something bad was going to happen. One night... that night... in our trip... I just couldn't... sleep."

"It's nowhere close to the truth and deep down, you know that too. You're probably just afraid to confront that truth." I shook my head. It's easier for people like Adam, people like Sophia who have the perfect smiles, the perfect statures, the perfect faces, the perfect charisma to think from our perspective, people like me. "You don't understand...." "Make me." He interrupted just as the bell went off, signaling the end of the free period and the beginning of the next period. "You guys are still here." Someone said and we both looked away from each other to see Sophia standing right behind the bench opposite us. Then she walked away without a word.

Her voice was light and playful because it had to be. Ethan laughed, leaving a kiss on her temple. "Of course, love. You just need more sleep." But sleep wasn't the problem. Reality was. The house, the life, the husband-it was all too perfect. And perfection, she was starting to realize, was its kind of prison. --- The scent of freshly ground coffee and toasted bread filled the kitchen, blending with the crisp morning air. Ethan sat at the breakfast table, reading the newspaper as he always did, a portrait of effortless domesticity. A plate of eggs and fruit waited for Lena, prepared exactly as she liked.

His knees gave in, and then he collapsed to the floor. He tried to haul himself back up on his feet, but he couldn't. "Zora, you must be joking, right?" he cried, bursting into tears. "Get up now! This isn't funny at all. It's just a minor surgery. How could you possibly die?" I hovered above him, trying to touch his head. Yet, my hand went right through his body. So it turned out that I still had some effect on Simon. But I was already dead—I couldn't comfort him even if I wanted to.

The guard walked away, cleaning himself in disgust. “Quiet girl, it is obvious that you are of high class. You shouldn't be here; besides, you are very beautiful, and you remind me of me from my younger days. I was very beautiful, and I used that to make men do whatever I wanted. No one could resist me; no male could tame me. Only time, which often walks confidently because there is no one to stop it, took charge of diminishing me, and now, at my age, I had to learn to beg for affection. You should take advantage of that beauty and use it as a weapon that is superior to a thousand atomic bombs. Illusion is a man, and he will be able to destroy armies and demolish walls, no matter if you give

"And... you won't mind if I don't look perfect?" He grins, shaking his head and promising that in his eyes, she always looked stunning. "Perfect doesn't exist, anyway," he says, insisting she stop holding herself to an impossible standard that was nothing more than a single person's opinion. Everyone had their own taste. What was perfection to her could be someone else's disaster. "You can't please everyone, sweetheart. No matter how hard you try... in the end, you'll just end up wearing yourself out." "Huh..." she murmurs, admitting she had never thought of her appearance in such a way.

it said. “For what?” I demanded, anger finally rising strong enough to cut through the fear. “For completion.” The word echoed in my mind. Completion. My stomach twisted. “You think turning everyone into this,this thing is completion?” I said, my voice shaking. “Individuality creates instability,” it replied. “Unity creates perfection.” “No,” I said immediately. “That’s not unity. That’s control.” The figure tilted its head. “Distinction irrelevant.” My fists clenched. “That’s where you’re wrong,” I said.

I tried to forget him, but it is not working" Chimamanda admits almost in tears. "Come on, Sis, don't cry, don't even try to hide it, let the feelings grow, build something new with him. From what I've researched, he seems to be a nice guy and, most importantly, let go of the past, don't allow it to deprive you of your happiness. Now get up, let's go, you have a Prince charming waiting downstairs". Chimamanda arranged her make-up tools back to their position, looked at the mirror one more time to admire her work of art. She picked up her clutch purse and phone.