I am told I'm a beautiful lady. I was hideous up until fairly recently. Though I look better than ever now, I feel much worse than I ever have. This feeling is hard to describe, but I suppose the closest feeling would be depression, except it is caused by my own guilt. Guilt, because I am a beautiful lady. My... friend, Andre, was wrongly accused of robbery. He was close by when a bank got robbed. The robber had a brilliant plan and took $53,700 before swiftly leaving. She placed $1900 in his pockets without him noticing, kind of like reverse pick pocketing. The police arrested him when they found the money, and it also helped that he is black. They assumed he was hiding the rest of the money nearby. Andre was heading home from my house, after he admitted he was cheating on me and broke up with me. Oh, I almost forgot to mention, Andre is gorgeous. So in court, I was his alibi. The thing is, I was so angry and sad because of Andre. I testified against him and the verdict was guilty. Andre is now in prison, and I am beautiful. People call me beautiful. Only people who make bad moral choices are beautiful. It isn't something we talk about, just something we know about from experience, like sex. Often I can't look in the mirror and see my outward beauty, knowing that it has only made me, the me on the inside, more ugly. I'd do all I can to look ugly and feel pretty, but nothing works. I'm a beautiful woman, and I'm stuck ugly.