Walking(alone)
It was drizzling lightly when Flan stepped out of the lift. The cameramen, all poised for action, were still there, she noticed. The receptionist was right, someone really ought to tell them that their target had long taken off. She wasn't going to be that 'someone' as she figured they probably wouldn't mind standing in the shelter for a moment longer.
The cold raindrops falling on her bare cheeks and forehead did nothing to soothe her throbbing head. It was another grueling session with interviewers whom she felt only obligation and not pleasure in entertaining. She had been charming and honest - and now she was exhausted. The editor had seemed nice enough - nodding her head and smiling that 'knowing' smile of hers, every time Flan gave a satisfying answer. Next to her, the HR manager was a lot less encouraging, but she supposed it to be her job - someone's got to be the devil's advocate.
It was only a 5-minute walk to the train station, but it felt a lot longer; so lost in thoughts were she that she hasn't realized her phone vibrating in her thick pockets. "Whether I get it or not, at least this would be the last," she mumbled aloud as she willed herself to stay positive about her decisions. The train was taking a long time to arrive and Flan felt impatient even though she was in no real rush. The apartment was empty, as always; nothing and nobody was waiting for her to return. Old habits, she supposed; there was always Mr Brown awaiting her return when D wasn't. Walking alone, she decided, was a lot harder than she thought.
the message is quite clear
There are about ten people listening intently to a petite woman who is at least a head shorter than her audience. Her white curls are well-primed and kindly wrinkles will reveal themselves frequently as she speaks. "And now we shall take a look at this piece. It's by an artist called Nicola Costantino. Any idea what does the material remind you of?"
Flan moves to the side so that she can have a better look. There are four items encased in a big display glass - a full-length evening gown, a pair of high stilettos, a designer's bag and a football. The latter does not quite fit in with the rest of the items, she frowns as she tries to think of a rationale behind it. All four pieces of sculpture are made of the same brown, suede-like material, a little rough and leathery.
The pause drags on for another second or so, before the Art guide leading the tour that afternoon decides to reveal the obvious - "Human skin!"
Everyone gasps!
"Oh not real human skin of course but a material fashioned to resemble human skin, as you can see, erm, the patterns here resemble certain, human...er anatomy, don't you think?"
Everyone moves forward for a clearer look. Yes, on closer scrutiny, the leathery dress is made up of squares of anuses and the stilettos made up of nipples. It's all done in a manner that is tasteful and aesthetically pleasing.
That, is the problem, Flan can't help thinking, as she chews her lips and frowns harder.
"....as you can see, the artist is trying to comment on the way at which humans have used all kinds of animal skins to create commercially viable products. We think nothing of it if it's snake skin or crocodile skin but what if it's skin of our kind? We feel the horror of wearing such skin but not of those taken from animals. Yet at the same time, it does not seem absolutely impossible that designers of today may well push the boundary of what is 'acceptable'," she continues on with a soft chuckle, tucking a loose hair behind her ear, "...you just never know these days anything seems possible!"
No one, at least, no one till now, has dared imagine human skin to be suitable skirt or bag material. And now that someone has, for all her noble intention - to make us re-think the commercialization of animal skin, a seed is now planted and yes indeed, you just never know.
