She went into the room and was startled by the universal beauty of the other participants. They were all like models, like how she always dreamed of being. Except the one, the listener. They began to speak. They spoke of their misery, Loneliness, and the grip of the ritual. No one knew. Try to breathe. Don't stare. Wrong room. Not one of them. 2008-02-06T20:34:15Z http://ficlets.com/feed/story/20298 <p>I once walked into a cosmetology class. I guess that was kinda like that, especially as a male. So, I love the last line! A really nice snapshot.</p> http://ficlets.com/stories/20298?basename=39096 2008-02-06T20:34:15Z Sturek http://ficlets.com/authors/sturek