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“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the new Miss Sexy Universe…Miss Sexy USA, Kara Gilmore!”
Everything goes blank for a moment as soon as I hear my name. The announcer and the roaring crowd suddenly sound so distant.
Honestly, it’s the last fucking thing I was expecting. It wasn’t even a possibility in my mind.
I should be thrilled, right?
It’s not like I didn’t work my ass off for this. Still, I don’t really feel very excited right now. I just kind of feel like I don’t even want to go out there anymore.
I might not want it, but they’re waiting for me. I start walking onto the stage, trying hard to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do now.
Kara
Muddled music is playing, I’m surrounded by bright lights, and the crowd goes from sounding kind of loud to fucking deafening once I’m onstage.
I would’ve appreciated this deafening applause after my speech, but I guess the audience has come to accept me now that I’m the winner.
Yep, the winner. Miss Sexy fucking Universe. That’s me, apparently.
I won’t deny it—I dedicated my life to preparing for this shit, at least for a while. All that time, all that work...I think about my adorably determined past self, grinding away, with the goal of winning a naked beauty pageant.
I stop halfway across the stage. I try to look at the audience, but there’s a blinding spotlight on me.
Now that I’m right in the thick of it, in the culmination of all that effort, I consider what goal that the old Kara, working so hard to prepare for a beauty pageant, had in mind.
Was this it?
Bright lights, cameras, a whole lot of fucking eyes on me while someone waits for me with a tiara and a fake smile—was this the dream of past Kara?
More importantly, is this the dream of the present Kara? Because I’m supposed to be fucking living it, and I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but whatever dream I’m living right now, I know for sure it’s not mine.
Another thing I’m certain of is that I can’t just fucking stand here in the middle of the stage all day, with everyone staring at me.
I continue my walk to the center of the platform, still not really able to see shit because of the spotlight. I guess they break out the really bright shit for the winner.
I don’t know where I am on the stage now, but I’m formulating a plan to just keep walking all the way until I’m out of view again.
Then, I’ll just leave.
What would happen? It would be pretty fucking funny. At least, I think it would be.
Right in the middle of my planned walk to the other side of the stage, I’m suddenly handed an enormous bouquet of flowers covered in ribbons. I push away another as someone places the crown on my head.
The applause goes from a little less deafening to beyond fucking loud. The spotlight dims enough for me to see, though. It looks like the audience is giving me a standing ovation, which I think they would for whoever won.
I’m gripping the bouquet with one hand. This would be much more comfortable for people wearing clothes. Right now, though, I just want to get rid of it.
I consider throwing it into the audience, like a bride at a wedding, but it’s kind of heavy for that. I settle for holding it out, away from me, dangling it by one of the decorative ribbons.
The spotlight ramps back up to its former, blinding brightness, and somebody—it just looks like a disembodied hand and part of a forearm—hands me a portable microphone.
The music ends, and the audience has fallen dead quiet in anticipation of my words.
“Could somebody please turn down that spotlight? I can’t see a thing.”
Whoever’s in charge of that light immediately turns it down a few notches.
“That’s better,” I continue, “my thanks to the lighting crew. I don’t know if you all can’t see me now, but...whatever. I can see, at least.”
