Model
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The model walked down the runway with her mind somewhere far up in the clouds. What had she been doing that night? Where was all of this leading her? She had been a professional model since the age of thirteen and was now at the hight of her game. One evening in Morocco two weeks ago an old woman had walked directly up to her in the street, looked into her eyes, and began to cry.
A slight blink was all that hinted that this top flight model was thinking about anything else but the flow of the fabric and firm hug of her high heels as she clacked from backstage once more out in front of the cameras, the perfect model. She couldn't remember anything about the entire day leading up meeting the woman, and afterwards could barely remember she was even a model.
Before that all she ever thought about was being a model, and would dream up new and different ways to set herself apart from the average model in her league. Now she didn't even squint in the lights as they blazed into her eyes. Her heavily painted model eyes were looking still back into the gaze of the weeping woman on that crowded narrow street. Wondering why.