"And She Was Only 12" -short story screenplay by BB.

"And She Was Only 12" 

She lay there in her self-made DIY castle deigned for Princesses on a light coloured flower patterned sofa. In a child's bod with an ever-evolving grownup mind with high, high awareness since a tiny thing, like, a lil Jesus on steroids, eyes wide and all rug-ed-up comforting herself wrapped in mounds of carefully placed soft pillows, and mounds of loving cozy soft blankets, hm that’s better, she said in a near whisper.  She was hidden with only her small strong lovely square face poking out a mere wee bit, like, a snowshoe-hare in her rabbit-hole beneath mounds of soft white protecting snow in winter carefully peering out at a big mean unforgiving world. 

She knew that she was different, she huffed a lil huff but refused to let a tear fall nor go all teary-eyed. No matter how great, ‘different’ can be brutal, she whispered, others with no understanding of born inherent art minds. Though, she wasn’t embarrassed in the least to have a good cry now and then bc she couldn’t afford to purchase a stack of plates, cups & saucers to throw at a wall until they were all smashed into a million pieces, relieving pent-up anxiety in monkey-world, she nicknamed it rightly. Or, this thing, this place …whatever-land, she said to a mirror, from across the way, helping her to remember what she looks like in the mirror always, even now.

She wisely pondered, like lil-ppl woman high Arts Princess genius minds do, ...what is this place, she queried often enough and how can one possibly survive in such a cruel unforgiving, anti-arts, antifeminist big place of a monstrous weird world reality around her and that required dump-trucks of cash, and jewels merely to have a place to live, clothes, food and a car, forget the snowmobile nor jet-ski? 

She went princely silent inherently, inside, like lil-ppl woman Princesses do, w/no thought Tom-Petty-free-fallin', for a bit, holding her inhaled lil-ppl woman breath, for a moment, listening to her heartbeat, ...holding in her abs tight, listening in total, viral, complete silence before releasing it, her breathe one means. 

Nope, the sky didn’t fall, she giggled a real felt giggle, as if being playfully tickled inside, at herself and knowing fear was a mere snare for one’s feet, she learnt in Sunday school in-the-day before questioning suspect organized religion.

This holds true, she thought, especially after the whole Santa Claus, Easter Bunny world conspiracy on the minds of innocent trusting children thingy as if normal. 

She pointedly on purpose, with a heart-felt near broken-hearted reluctant urge, ...she glanced at her princely RAD beautiful, as she was ankle, mostly, lil-ppl woman solid-gold hard-earned princely ankle-bracelet, that once displayed a tiny stainless-steel, gold-plated Santa sparkling trinket, that was embellished in rubies, diamonds and emerald rhinestones, for, $19.95 with PRIME free shipping, her lil-ppl princely woman mind flashed, in near swollen tear, gone by, in memory, mostly, ...she smiled anyway, in mid-lil-ppl woman-thought. 

Nope, no more Santa gone in a snap, she said, the best part of life gone POOF she went on in a mood as monotone as her Mack/Siri iPhone. She was young but not all together stupid, she said out loud on purpose. Thinking of the mammoth challenges facing her while also blooming into in-coming quick enough inevitable young womanhood and would-be future or career path, and all that comes w/it whatever that is, she wisp a lil wisp. 

She suddenly felt small inside, smaller even than her perfect young petiteness of a plethora of talent waiting to be honed further still rn. RN she flashed, dreaming of the many different would-be studios in her mansion, a dance, drawing, music, martial-arts, writing, and film studios with joining wardrobe, hair and makeup studios. “It could happen”, she playfully said, doing her best Judy Tenuta impression in mounds of soft pillows pressing in firmly and close, reminding her that she is loved, engulfed in her bunny self-made survival cocoon on sofas, helping her to at least pretend to feel totally save, protected like having buckets of money, and everyone rightly calling one Princess or her highness. 

She knew that she was not a vain person merely knowing that even Harry-Potter-Whatever knows that if one doesnt love, admire and be one’s own witness to ever-evolving towards the most hard-earned RAD thingy on earth, and rightly so, then certainly no one else will. She thought she was pretty cool bc she was pretty cool, proven as disciplined, focused and determined. She loved Performing and she was ace at it and the camera loved her and equal even further than a Shirley Temple or Judy Garland young Stars gone by. She was as any A-Lister gets rn and she knew it and w/out any fancy thousand-dollar Hollywood smoke & mirrors affects but merely her tiny tools of trade in comparison, her cell-camera. Even her woks posted rn she knew were equal anything out there A-list high Arts especially Hollywood. She wasn’t stupid, especially in Arts, already a master at 12yo in several high Arts’ disciplines, mostly self-taught, the best kind, she laughed while knowing that she was totally misunderstood by monkey-world is understandably accepted even by the age 7yo, she reflected. 

As a kid, she thought everybody had a Muse talking in their ear holding their hand and making mischief like a better replica of a Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer combined in female form on steroids, but stunningly more attractive with depth of character, making her even more slippery when slipping out the back to go romp, though she had a pretty mean scary face too that she practiced, and flashed at will that was no less stunning in young female beauty.

She at times imagined that having a magic carpet or bed would be ideal. Oh, yut’ she wisp loudly, years gone by like a snap, snapping her fingers like she’d done it a thousand times on film before in a different life, …Princess of Hollywood. It could happen, she yelp, muffled in protecting blankets, upon a light coloured flower patterned sofa, knowing where she was, too much.  

She asked her BBF Siri thingy to check her balance on her checking account. “Twenty-seven dollars remaining balance as July 21st in checking and two dollars in savings account ending in 0577", Siri thingy replied faithfully and sometimes actually helpful, that she renamed Mack with a male voice. She liked bossing Mack around now and then.    

She knew that she was young but old enough to know that something was not right with all the marbles in the right places all about her in this monkey-world 2020 thingy, adjusting her pose on purpose and striking perfect form in lounging like Performing Artists do, under her designed wall of guarding comforter-blankets from wolves who eat young rabbits. 

A master genre Photographer or Filmmaker with a uniquely keen eye untold, like, a better replica of Spielberg in female form, a master in front of the camera Modeling, master in hair & makeup and wardrobe, and also visual arts or Artist already, and she was only 12yo, she whispered to herself. She was, like, a General Custer on a hillside alone surrounded by millions of Art-stupid grownups, not knowing it’s a trillion-dollar world trade rn with females leading the way in front of and behind the camera in high Arts. She dropped her friend to the sofa and shot off a couple of lightning fast rounds of imaginary bullets from her hand-held imaginary cowgirl bulldog of a beastly pistol at imaginary perps trying to kill her that were flying about in her genius visionary noodle’.  

She wiggled her small perfect female self-manicured feet and toes vigorously like Dancers do under her silky to the touch soft covers. She smiled, it felt wonderful to her toes and the sensitive topside of her feet. She looked at a spent old organic extra dark chocolate wrapper laying about nearby like she was but teasing her that, read, 80% COCAO. She envisioned herself as a giant walking Choc-o-la-dite’ Monster full of those love feelings induced by high grade cocao, that triggers brain happy happy love endorphins, she remembered, nicknaming them dolphins bc it was easy to say and made more sense to her to do so, she thought. Yep, dolphins’ and chocolate are a good match bc she likes both, she pondered on in mounds of soft blankets, deep feather pillows, and roaming thoughts of female yut’, she nicknamed it,  w/a sweet heavenly scent of fresh scent of lavender essential oil worn on her wrist, behind her ears, and side of neck, rolling over on her stomach. Yep, that science class was worth a lil, she said. 

Who are you talking to, some fam passerby asked? Uh, Kareena Kapoor, she quickly swooned in maneuvers at the incoming invasion of said intrusion upon her what-have-you alone time. Karen who, they asked with high inflection in their tone as if something really weird just happened?  Oh nothing, she said. Well, are you ok in there, want a snack, there are some barbecue potatoes chips left on the counter? Uh, a taco would be nice, and one could bring said potato chips to moi, she said mater of factly, and she really was hungry. Uh sorry no tacos, was heard trailing behind fading footsteps. Ah, at least she was once again to herself alone in Princess peace, mostly, if that’s even possible. Smiling, she hugged mounds of softness encompassing her in a long bearhug as if she really meant it bc she did. 

She was a multitalented inherent Artist in a non-art-world vortex around her w/out a Director nor few understanding the depth of inherent Artists R-brain-hemisphere producing high Art females leaning way into genius levels of high awareness, a special breed of their own. And she inherently knew it but never said it out loud, yet, she was only 12, she yelped a lil yelp like rabbits do while in thought engulfed in soft fluffy puffy caves. 

But one will soon enough, she said to her camera. She was brave and didn’t intimate easily,  she was merely that way, she gazed into her camera face. She was near totally alone in her Art world mind, isolated everyday more and more as she grew, and evolved as a person, and life stage-persona, and ever-evolving Artist at lightening speeds quicker than a 5yo outgrowing shoes; outgrowing everyone around her if she wanted to or not. 

This is not to say that she at all tried to stop or impede her own path forward and beyond never ending with no fences in order to make monkey-world or friends and peeps feel more comfortable in their stagnation of mediocrity or plainness to the point of bored tears of agony for one person to endure, for some, it seemed to her sharp mind and higher awareness.

A logical thing, she said out loud, following one’s heart’s desire starting young, rolling in her princess cave blanket-land world.

There was no one around like her, she scanned her genius noodle’s memory-banks. Nope, not a one, she said to a blanket prior quickly glancing a nearby mirror not wanting said mirror to feel completely left out of the conversation with her and said soft cuddly blanket, the stuffed big panda, and hoards of her feather pillow lounging as she was friends. 

The fine mirror merely replied, to the whole group gathered with her, YOU are so cool it hurts, in faithful reflection. One knows, right, she smiled and agreed in response to said fine untainted mirror’s firm reply that’s seldom wrong. She toted wisp of a twinkle and good heart n her young wise eyes and scope of experience beyond her years. She needed a real live Merlin, she moaned a DiCaprio lil moan. But thank you anyway, she said with a noted pleasant face to said fine reflecting mirror, lifting her neck and head a bit turning to a 3-quarter facial angle checking her side face, neck and ear-line, yup all was in place, she whispered, perfect! She’d already mastered the female neckline shoulder move, seen on glossy magazine covers displaying gold neckless filled diamonds and rubies at Tiffany’s and by the age 10yo, line and form she said to the mirror thingy, line and form running her fingers from her ear down along her shoulders, and neckline like a diamonds for sale commercial but Model not included. 

One must be an exotic bird, she explained to her Siri BFF in hand, who responded w/written text that, read, ‘exotic bird ; a uniquely different often beautiful winged feathered fowl often killed by non-exotic birds also know as the majority merely for being different’. 

HA, she giggled loud glancing her small shapely arm for feathers! They haven’t killed moi, yet, she wisp. Let them try, she barked, like rabbits do, then instantly she shot up totally skyward w/out notice from her fortified reinforced rabbit-bunker of deep feather pillows and blankets, her soft castle for Princesses untold, to standing on the couch doing a lil sword fight jig, fighting off invisible goons from Goon-Land trying to eat her. 

Take THAT, she lunged forward with a final deadly lunge of her quick as lightening invisible sword, destroying her enemies that mocked, teased and bullied her all day for being different, and most noted via their jealousy. 

Princesses have to deal with that, she accepted that a year ago. You're gay, you’re weird, you’re crazy, you’re stupid, you’re ugly, you’re fat, you're flat, you’re silly, you’re just an ole-girl, echoed in her head at that moment. 

Monkey-world’s opinions didn’t bother her much bc, well, they were monkey-world. She clenched her jaw firm enough and felt defiant inside against the cruelty of 2-digit monkey-world IQ children, and grown-ups alike who thought that she was merely a management problem, not the multitalented Artist 100% tax-deductible high Arts asset that she truly was, and shining light to a waining pandemic society, and culture. 

She wasn’t a ‘dime a dozen’ type gal, she pondered, no way. She stared unapologetically into her cell-camera taking the snap reflecting back her sincere genre moment in her Princess castle cave of comfortable, hiding from monkey-world, mostly, but a taco would have been an added addition to her lounging thingy, she pondered on. It’s hard to be wonderful all the time, she said to her face, mirroring back to her via her hand-held BFF. And she knew that she was way better looking than her crap camera made her out to be, saying to herself that she needs a better camera. She huffed a bit under the billows of covers blowing beautiful princely dark honey-blond-red silk hair out of her petite lil face, she nicknamed it. Like most inherent high Artists she made it look easy, what she does, like masters do but like anything else it was work, she reflected in her blanket cave of resolving pondering’s of her important to her immediate life and focus trying not to be bored nor sad. 

She was a natural and she knew that too. She loved it and it loved her, what she does, isn’t that right Mack, she asked out loud? “Mac ; abbreviation for machaintose 1983 computer made by Apple corp.” replied her cellphone in text, adding a lil to the conversation under the covers on a sofa w/out a taco. Her Muse was female terrific and prolific, and hard working Muse indeed triggering her into action. 

This holds true at any moment at any hour with camera in hand or drawing pencil, or playing dress-up for 1/2 a day exploring bullet-proof outfits, she nicknamed them, created or being right on the pulse of fashion in society as a whole that historically dazzled monkey-world via her hard earned efforts, giving her on an average of over 1/2 a dozen compliments, of, love your outfit, you are looking dapper, I like your sports coat, to, great shoes, great hair from total strangers of all ages and all races almost every time she ventured out in pandemic-land of masks in order to gather. 

She was a lil Looker, most importably, her young look was universal woman bc all types of ppl loved her stage-persona that was mostly real, she reflected on, waving at the always nearby looking at her mirror only feet away.

Being all cheesecake smiles, glitter and bubbles was ok, she enjoyed that genre too. Today was not all cheesecake smiles. Owe, she said, her joints and muscles ached in her changing bod morphing from girl bod to young woman bod but w/a mind of about a 50yo woman she thought, well, maybe 80yo she corrected herself inside. 

She wondered what her bewbs would tun out to be whenever they decided to be all grown-up, as over last summer vacation months, in the day when ppl used to go to class-room schools, some girls who were flat as washboard-willy on Sunday came back the following starting school year with KAPOW bewbs first that entered the room before they did. 

Who then immediately shot up from plain-jane-nobody in school popularity to most popular girl in school or tagged slut if she were stuck-up and didn’t allow the boys to sexual verbally abuse her enough during the course of the day, week, month, year, calling them baby, cutie, doll, sexy like that was suppose to mean anything but belittling and degrading, and normal. 

And that bothered her a lil not knowing for sure if she was going to have to go PRIME shopping for larger shirt-top sizes and the over the shoulder boulder holder bra thingy any time soon and what fashion look she’d go for to suit them? Her bod and face were changing alright and quick. And she didnt know if she liked it or not, and it was messing with her genius female Artist noodle. 

She’d merely mastered her last face that know is morphing into womanhood. Will she like her nose she wondered? She quickly flipped to the article in her fashion mag., reading that there are two things that never stop growing until one goes drop-dead-Fred dirt-nap, ears and nose. Eeww, she whimpered a bit in near total yut’ disgust, imagining herself some day still all cute but flying down the road with her big wrinkly old woman hairy floppy dumbo-ears dragging a sagging gelatinous overhanging nose like a wagging elephant trunk nose, ...eewww, she repeated, eew, ...ew, ew, ew!

She quickly changed the subject refusing bad images in her noodle by staring at her rn gorgeous yut’ face ever-evolving, holding her Mack-phone camera rolling, as usual, she said, then winked under the covers.

Nope, no mater she was getting no nose-job, no mater, if it was going to grow in size or not, nor other surgeries for beauty nor for any other reason, she didn’t like needles, pointy things, much and knives creeped her totally out. She glanced the mirror and did vogue killer pose under the cover hidden put her face told all.

Hair, makeup and wardrobe were some effort but she played only to fashion today and let the rest fall where it may, stroking her RAD lounging top, fitting for a young high Artist princess, her entire lounge outfit, yup, totally RAD she whipped. But one needs chocolate RN, she moaned a lil DiCaprio bear moan then YELPED AHHH! A striking pain in her R-hip-flexor muscle w/out notice seared a sudden stabbing pain as she struck it with a lil repeating karate hand move right on the spot that was hurting her, helping to relief the pain or at least distract it. Puberty, she whispered, is that what her parents called it, ha, she called it unfair and will it every stop, she huffed again in aching pain? Will what ever stop, another fam passerby queried as if they really cared? Eves-dropping ppl that, ask, “will what stop”, she barked a bit, hearing a slight pause then footsteps quickly fading away in quiet hast w/out reply.

Soon enough and always on time, mostly, for her own events, she found herself away from her self-healing though a bit DiCaprio rightly moaning bear-rug lounge place area, back towards her Art cave. In truth, she looked like a huge petite walking puffy off-coloured marshmallow in glowing dimly lite lighting and shadow. She was a mass of comforters, pillows, stuffed animal, blankets weighing over 20lbs of bedding moving in mid-air, not dragging the floor, with footie-sock fitted feet slide-walking on smooth tile, saying, Tia Toomey, huh! ... pause …Tia Toomey, Tia Toomey, with every sliding-step wondering if she could even make it there w/out dropping everything and dragging it back nor collapsing or worse yet slipping hard onto her bum via slippery cotton footies while trying not to bump into a wall seeing only tile in front via her blocked vision. 

She remembered a girl once who slipped doing cheerleader high kicks landing on her bum breaking her tailbone screaming horribly. She didn’t even know that ppl had tail-bones. Rumor was that she cried so hard and so long in pain they had to give her morphine to stop the pain. They say it’s a terrible injury, her mind swooned in DONT SLIP B DONT SLIP B echoed in her head in all the fun, if that is what it was, and she never used foul language unless emergencies, she pondered forward in the moment towards her Art cave.   

Tia Toomey, the giant petite marshmallow grunted, under the massive weight pressing down on her head, arms and wrist. Soft as a pillow my ars’e she whipped a lil princely wisp, and heavy as a big pumpkin, the marshmallow-looking-thingy-walking concluded. Near out of the area nearest the kitchen-countertop where barbecue potato chips used to live, a passing fam member who sounded in tone a bit agitated yelped echoing in the kitchen. 

OKAY WHOOo took the last of the barbecue potato chips, as if the owner of everything and Darth Vader has spoken!? Mack, she nicknamed herself, she STOPED frozen in mid slide-walking in a split second not knowing if she, the big puffy pillow marshmallow thingy had even been seen down the adjoining hallway leading away from the sofa and kitchen area where most of the germs live, she noted long ago. 

Complete dead silence filled the dim lite place, Hitchcock moment in time, not a breath, not a pin drop nor pig’s squeal was heard. She froze, potato chips in hand hidden under tommy-tons’ of princess blankets. 

Again the seemingly offended munch-munger carried on in the kitchen like some ornate criminal in the night had stole their best whatever on earth, yelping loud, WHO took ALL of the barbecue chips …MAaaCK, echoed the house area!??  “Barbecue chips”, said Mack/Siri iPhone stuffed in her footie sock set to voice activate, “…a thinly sliced fried piece of potato doused w/chemical flavoring known as barbecue”, Mack’s Mack/Siri iPhone concluded, in dead silence echoing Mack’s iPhone last word thingy’s words, “barbecue …barbecue” echoed in the adjoining area in male Siri tones, like the sound of the Wee Ppl fairy ppl seen in Iceland who do gather gold. 

For a millisecond she remained frozen like a stone, like a newborn doe in tall grass hiding from a hungry lion that loves to eat baby does hiding frozen still in tall grass. The place was completely eerie silent a weirdly quiet, like, an empty church on a weird dark Tuesday night with no moon, with no one listening but angels and her, well, and perhaps the devil she flashed, that loves to eat multitalented good-hearted golden-goose genius petite gorgeous female high Arts yut’s frozen in hallways smelling of barbecue potato chips merely around any corner waiting for her. 

Okay, she was creepy her own self out with her great unstoppable Muse driven railroad imagination, she interjected inside. In her internal darkness hooded in gobs of blankets and deep feather pillows of her portable princess castle atop her head, weighing her down, filled with the scent of barbecue potato chips with the bag grasped tight w/her R-hand holding up tons of blankets and heavy quilts aching her deltoids as if in permeant ponytail atop of head position with heavy weights and merely holding it there forever until her shoulders burned with barbecue potato chip dust puffing up her to die-for petite strong square lovely face nearly making her sneeze. ...plz dont sneeze her brain whispered quick and near commanding, ...plz dont sneeze …plz dont sneeze …plz dont sneeze!  

Then in SUDDEN unpredictable genius wascally-wabbit mind immediately her IQ addressing ‘fight or flight’ survival mode kicked her honed motor-skills in high gear MACH-5 via auto-pilot. 

W/out warning nor notice breaking the dead silence, of, who stole the barbecue potato chips, still weirdly quiet as a Tuesday night at church, the polished hallway ERUPTED in a quick rushing sound of pillows, blankets and comforter glob ball thingy swooshing through mid-air down a hallway accompanied below by petite socks on tile floors type sounds, going at about MACH-7 warp-speed, Star Trek speed, she imagined and almost in a straight line with the noted sound of potato chip package crackling, imitating from deep inside the unusually quick moving puffy petite pillow ball thingy swishing down the hall in a SWISHING-rush indeed, now sliding down the hall, bouncing off at least one wall, big, puffy pillow, blanket marshmallow thingy. 

Her heart raced, it was hard to breath like a choking COVID-19 100x’s worse mask and her upper lats started to burn. She felt her grip loosening on the bedding, her wrist burning. 

She had to get to her Art cave before being seen bc she was in no 12yo genius high Arts mood of mind for, the, it’s soo’ rude and narcissistic to take the last piece of pizza sermon, uh, again. And she never took the last piece nor bit of chips ever, mostly, compared to majority. But when SHeee did it BAM it was national alert day against Mack the wascally-wabbit steeling food, made to feel like a thieve and she hated liars, thieves, and bullies at 7yo. She “cants-stance-em”, she huffed in Pop-Eye turmoil at hand wishing she had more spinach strength needed RN before dropping her cherished load in her current recent challenge. 

Mackenzie, is that you under there, she heard a familiar fam voice behind her down the long hall. Oh no, she flashed, she’d been spotted like a person w/out a face-mask in a grocery store on Dr. Phil TV show and only a mere 12-inches from her cave door opening. 

In mid-flight, evasive maneuvers required, her mind flashed, skidding around the corner into her cave with amazing balance and right-on accuracy for a 1st time huge near flying pillow-blanket thingy glob on sock-skates sliding tile flooring, she thought at the time, while replying, one has no idea what one is talking about, to the person somewhere way behind her down the hall, doing her best impression, of, a big puffy bedding-thingy might sound voice. 

She did so just prior, hitting the carpet of her cave, disappearing out of the no-man's-land-hallway headlong, flying headfirst into the room rolling like a big giant soft twirling thing through the air, a big Choc-o-la-dite Monster on steroids, laughing hard from her gut out loud muffed in deep comforters. She quickly recovers and roles back towards the door doing her famed Emily Post politely but quick swinging of her cave door shut to her lil box of relative princess safety, mostly. She slid two of her 15lbs. dumbbells in front of the door to help keep everybody honest, she whispered. Balls didn’t notice.

Balls, her kitten, she nicknamed bc seemingly possessed w/balls, any kind of ball. Forget silicone mice squeak-toys if it didn’t roll, nor swishing birds in air, splashing about fish in glass bowls, real mice nor lively butterflies. Yup, nope, yep, only balls made him go frisky-cat, like, a lil Mike Tyson on steroids, from Ball’s norm of mostly loung sleeping and eating all day like any sociably acceptable kitten thingy, like, most normal kittens morphing into cat-hood.

She lay there comfortable, like, a thick soft rolled elongated donut w/a head pleasantly eating broken barbecue potato chips and wishing that she had a taco too but not crying about it, wiggling her feet like a lil mermaid, giggling a bit inside. She got the barbecue potato chips ha ha, ha-ha, ha, ha, echoed her mind in rightly defiant voice of equality for all sister fellow yut’s. 

Balls, spread-eagle belly up on the bed above her, eyes 1/2 opened, stared for about 1.5 seconds, yawned a cute closed-eyed kitten yawn pink tongue out, lil white vampire shiny fangs, then went right back to sleep, as if all the commotion of flying pillow globs was a normal occurrence not worth disrupting a hard earned kitten-nap after laboring over a full kitten bowl for a 1/2 an hour.

After writing in her diary, ‘Star Date earth’s pandemic 2020 ; pls universe zap one’s Handlers and peeps that one needs about $200.00 worth of decent mirrors as a rocketing young practicing Performing high Artist, Filmmaker with a good heart, and perhaps would-be Dancer too as one of her high Arts disciplines as well, the end. ps. and a taco or three’, she swung her left leg high, leg bent, her knee finally resting softly enough on a wooden top furniture thingy backed by a largish torso, not full length mirror. 

She gazed her line and form, colour-scheme, texture, style for the times and occasion, outline, lighting, and everything, like, a hard nosed cruelly honest seasoned master Director w/an eagle-eye for any and all detail, making Spielberg look like a rich-momma-boy wanna-be vs her high awareness and creativity from nothing, and him last night’s news blurb out of Hollywood, she imagined. 

Hollywood WAS her Art cave and her crude lil camera, and that’s all that she needed, and she knew that too. And she was only 12. It’s a cyber world, she said to the mirror, Hollywood is right here, pointing at the mirror arm out reached slowly circling n the air the image in the mirror, HER. 

She new that was true too and the camera loved her angles, and she knew all her angles ever-evolving, like, a MNT Saint Helens on steroids! BOOM

Her leg was in a bent position that of a 1/2 cocked round-house karate kick resting on the table in the mirror w/her R-leg stretched straight and tight like stone standing in perfect form behind her to the ground barley visible in reflection. 

Was her shorts too short up her bum, she wondered, she was no easy cake nor pie to anyone, she said, while Balls literally snored a kitten snore like an old fat lovable fury pot-belly old spent crashed-out thingy in kitten heaven but merely a kitten still? Was denim really fashionable or marketing rehash of the 60’s and 70’s, she queried the mirror roaming her eyes waiting for her astounding Muse to answer unfailing. 

And she was thinking in the mirror, holding her balance and BFF steady enough, seriously pondering switching to blouse tops bc a bra and bewbs were coming anyway, and ditching the so-called fun girl T-shirt theme look w/MEMES. It’s hard being fun all the time, she said, especially during a pandemic. She was sure that the mirror agreed. 

Further, her high awareness eye noticed that that was not the same leg she knew as a girl. That was one RAD female wild lovely S-curve she was examining on her morphing leg toward young womanhood and she knew that too. That was no man-leg and getting a shapely curvy bum too that needs covering, she pondered on. She was getting a bod that matched her head if that’s even possible she thought? She could feel a pervy perv creeping her a mile away and it creeped her out, and quite frankly, she said inside, it pss-es one OFF to agitation and flushed cheeks, that made her even more attractive when vexed. A bit of clear snot dripped from her nose as she yelped, just great, before wiping it with a quick free elbow during an impromptu photo-shot standing on one leg, mostly.

She scrutinized her image n the mirror, like, a pro, like females do but 10x’s that and she was a multitalented master on a shoe-string budget 12yo, she huffed a bit of small gob of holy-grail hair out of her dainty face, and gorgeous new mouth. Her entire bod, the whole package, head, torso, hips, stomach, wrist and ankles, hair, skin tone, limbs, hands and feet all in proportion high ratio to ration integrity. 

Yup, she was a Looker and more likely gonna become grander soon enough coming, she figured in the mirror, and everything that comes with it, whatever that is?? ? Was she even ready to date especially guys her own age with a brain her size in high awareness, needing to go up about two to four years her senior for male companionship in monkey-work? But if not an inherent Artist why bother, monkey-world doesn't speak genius no matter how nice, no matter how talented, gifted, wealthy or beautiful monkey-world doesn't speak genius, she whispered but Balls didn’t notice. There was no manual for her and she knew it. Let the future come she said, one is not afraid of the future and the mirror agreed in tone and demeanor at her.

She was a lil dina-mo, she smiled humbly enough, 1/2 shrinking from the curse of inherent female power and natural beauty with heavenly freckles, like jealousy; rape; molestation; forced social tags according to majority monkey-world; subsidiaries of subsidiaries, of subsidiaries, of subsidiaries companies owned by rn faceless waining Weinstein Group conglomerate in Hollywood/Cyberwood or thoughts that a 12yo should NOT have to think about, she huffed but w/out grumbling. 

Staring in the mirror sincerely and practicing, as yut’ do is the best time for practicing, she thought, bc she thought that life was not rehearsal not even now. She knew that she was gifted w/Superpowers not fully explored with such high awareness able to see through walls, ppl and all things in a flash POOF feeling ppl’s vibie-vibes rush against her like waves of whatever, sometimes not so nice things too. 

Yep, she was blessed/cursed for life, like, most Super Heroes, she thought. She was grateful though especially for her creativity, fearlessness, drive, and electric energy, and she was only 12. She smiled like a princess that knew too much by default, not by her own design, like genius high Art yut’ females do. 

She smiled instantly into the untainted mirror not really knowing way, straight at her fav faithful BBF, a fine non-warped mirror under excellent lighting. She could take Hollywood with the right high Arts WILPF high Arts Manger dealing in Art commodities RN and she knew that too, and she was only 12. 

ACT 2

She was awake and though her mind, and ears were awake, her eyes certainly were not but must have hit the snooze button bc all her mind saw was black-nothingness in silence and as she preferred light this certainly would not do. She quickly and inherently opened her eyes wide and gorgeous, and courageously lifted her lil-ppl woman head greeting rn’s day, with the fearlessness inherent, like any brave muted 'Princess and The Pauper princess' might, with too many scars as testimony to it, and she was only 12, her mind echoed, hoping not to see goon-monsters, she nicknamed them, as her 1st morning image to start whatever-day it may become, accepting the fact early on that no day was the same with her.  

Her big-ppl Handler Guard, as it were, was gazing protecting, aware and awake into her lil-ppl petite princess face with understanding compassion, holding welcoming big-ppl eyes that, said, there is no reason to lie when n his world. 

He did so while, as an Artist, feeling the head of a lil-ppl goddess head, of smooth marble, he nicknamed it, as he smoothed back her 1/2 globed messed of wondrous lil-ppl woman's glory of hair, with a strong palm, warm, feeling, giving, gentle, steady big-ppl man-hand, that covered her entire wee lil-ppl head, like, the R-hand of a living warrior’s hand-helmet, toped and aligned w/hard lethal knuckles of bounding protection upon her head, like, a hardened impenetrable DRAGON ’s spine, from her forehead brow-line all the way back to the nap of her wee strong neck, w/out pressing down upon her, with welcoming caring and even healing touch, to start yet another day in monkey-world. 

She didn’t feel like speaking bc she didn’t have the words nor vision yet to do so and she knew that there was no reason to lie, so, she merely gazed, and said absolutely nothing in silence, with the face of a lil-ppl high Artists woman goddess awakening ...soon. 

This holds true, while at that moment with her unspoken comment in silence, he followed the princess’s lead, saying ok w/his eyes and demeanor in silence, then graciously, with big-ppl strength, he sweet-firmly pressed her head back down, like an overseeing giant lion's paw upon it’s beloved cub's head thingy, so to get a lil more sleep, pressing her comfortably back into her clouds or mounds of deep feathered princess billows of pillows, that engulfed her, prior hearing his steps walk away, after patting her once upon her right lil-ppl woman's wee strong lat, with a man big-ppl tightly closed light-solid finger-pat, like, any upright Princess Guard might in complete understanding, knowing plainly her challenging path as a lil-ppl genius female Star and inherent Princess path too, from ‘mouth of babes land' with absolutely no reason to lie, in monkey-world, he always said. 

And she knew that he knew as well as she, as her Princess Guard, towards her destiny born, do or die. This also holds true bc it also was his path too. And he amazed at her ways upon it or even that she even found it, at such an early age, all on her own, and she knew that. Yup, nope, yep, she knew that there were no words needed on that mater. 

He knew her path and all its challenges decades before her landing from heaven upon monkey-world, he would always say, she knew that to. She also knew that he knew exactly how to get her lazy 12yo bones up, though she was not lazy at all, mostly, to also bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

As he quietly disappeared from the room in peace, he calmly and mater of factly said, oh, lil sister, one is making one’s fav breakfast when one is ready. 

Well before his big-ppl man-steps ventured to far, her tummy QUICKLY nudged her sleepy-head's mind coasting. Eyes closed, wonderfully floating somewhere between heaven and earth, in deep feather pillows, she yelped softly, like lil-ppl woman princesses do, 1/2 awake-1/2 asleep but loud enough, she swooned in one long breath w/out pause, Mexican-eggs with cheese, and sour cream with cilantro bits; French-toast; blueberry crepes the one’s that one makes with maple sirup with swan patterns in sirup; orange juice; milk; grapes, watermelon and strawberries on the side; hot-chocolate iced with tiny marshmallows; that breakfast banana desert thingy w/chocolate sprinkles and whip-cream, oh, and on the patio in buffet style, she said, mater of factly in reply. …Be there in 5, she yelped lively enough all on her own w/out prodding!

Yep, he knew how to get her up quick in the mornings. The breakfast was already started, knowing her favs and the wondrous aroma had made its way to her sleeping princess quarter’s, she nicknamed them. 

He heard her hit the floor with a controlled precision thump, on mark. She loved sleeping up high in her designed up high bunkbed with a latter. He heard her huff a lil, then the sound of her doing spin dance turns in the full length floor to ceiling mirror 1st thing, prior hearing her closet door swing open with sounds of rushing about, like lil-ppl women do, that become more auditable. 

And before he had everything displayed buffet style on the patio, under a colourful umbrella of beautiful earth-tones, she came sliding around the corner, princely like, in her lil-ppl woman princess lounging attire wide-eyed and bushy tailed, following the grand aroma of delights awaiting just for her, in a fresh air rising beautiful sun of pink, gold and purple, with heavenly sounds of morning songbirds. The sweetest morning breeze ever teased her lovely new face, with fresh as she was hope, then softly wisp a lil of her princess long hair playfully about, giving the term silky breeze new meaning to the world untold.

Then she woke up. Staring at the wall, it was all a dream, she huffed loud. BLUE-BERRY CREPES WITH CHOCOLATE SPRINKLES AND WHIP-CREAM, she near SCREAMED, in determined upright divergent vexation for justice! 

What’s going on in their, shouted an totally Art-stupid near nice enough fam member, do you know what time it is!!? 

Oh, nothing, she retorted, just a nightmare, thanks! A nightmare of what, no dessert, they blurted out with curios tone, through closed princess quarter's doors? Oh dear fellow all, if that merely were bad enough, she muffled, with deep understanding of mind and hearts for such a young princely lass, into deep feather pillows upon high! ...she screamed a lil, unheard but to angels watching over her in her untold gory glory in monkey-world!

She lay there alive but not moving but with DEEP athletic breathing feeding her brain-noodle, as her unspoken lil-ppl woman12yo genius Art-mind scanned her deep memory-banks, searching for the last time that she was forced to walk the earth alone w/out her friends, all quarantined tightly-up like her, forced to deal w/life alone, talking only to herself inside or whatever thingy that guided her in thought, and response, her Muse for life, like all inherent Artist Princess thingys, she pondered staring at the ceiling.

How can a wee lil-ppl woman Princess possibly get up, she huffed rightly, w/out knowing what to wear!! ?

She didn't wear clothes! She wore lil-ppl woman DRAGON-Armor, also known as an outfit, a wardrobe. With her, cant go nor do anything COVID-19, life as if an eerie 2-digit monkey person, may it never be, she flashed in her young wise soul, in her current, disjointed or messed-up self-designed princess-routine world, as she knew it, at only 12yo POOF gone! 

How can a Princess be rn attend or show up to any affair or event, in one's princely so-called free day calendar, she huffed a bit, when said Princess has NO idea what it is that she is to attend to for the day by big-ppl Art-stupid Handlers, she HUFFED, again pointedly, like lil-ppl woman high Art genius Princesses do, above it all, upon bunkbeds high up?!   …to be continued…

Special acknowledgments to Instagram's MACKENZIE itsyogirl 

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