THE GREATEST SHOWMAN

Marchin' on to the beat I drum

The sunlight hit my eyes and I shut them against the glare, cursing the brightness, the merriment of bird song and my life.
Seriously.
Why did I have to wake up every morning? Why couldn't I just die in my sleep, peacefully drift away into the welcoming thought of death? You couldn't feel pain when you were dead. Couldn't feel hurt, hate, and despair. The teasing. The name-calling.

I heard the maids that shared our small room start to get ready for the new day. It wasn't anything special. We were just a few cleaning maids that washed the dirt and stains off others' clothes.
"Lettie! Get up!"
The sound of one of the self-appointed leaders of our group dragged me roughly out of bed. "You fat, hairy, lazy girl."
I surveyed her skinny body, biting back the words 'thin as a stick' and 'bony, hateful woman' that would surely get me cleaning the whole night if I ever said them out loud.
Except that I never did.
I moved silently as I tidied my mattress, folding the holey, torn fabric as neatly as possible. One of the maids shook out her sheets, whipping me across the face. "Dear me, Lettie just wiped her hairy chin on my sheets!" She squealed, shooting me a smirk.
I didn't bother to defend myself as she leaned around me and rumpled up my mattress, tossing the neatly-folded blankets to the floor.
The maids here that had known me for years treated me no better than the customers who spotted me for a few seconds.
"Lets go." The 'leader' beckoned us with her mop.
We followed in single file down the rickety stairs. Once we reached the bottom, we peeled off into seperate directions: the big tub of water, the clothes line, the smaller tubs, and the pile of dirty clothes sitting at the side.
This was the only place where I felt at home. When the maids were all wrapped up in their silly dreams and vigorously washing,  I was free to hum and sing like the birds in the morning. They all secretly listened each day. I could tell. But never asked.
The tune I was singing was one that I'd heard one morning that a maid had trilled in a horrible off-key voice. I softened the tone, changed some notes.
I grabbed a stained dress and plunged it into the ice-cold water, scrubbing it as the tune rolled off my tongue. I paused as the water sloshed around in the bucket, adding a bar of soap. As I dragged the dress through the water, I caught sight of my reflection in the ripples.
Even distorted, you could still see the beard that covered the girl's chin.
That girl was...
I didn't want to say 'me'.
There was the sound of footsteps outside the door. Probably another maid delivering another batch of dirty clothes.
But just in case, I slid the dress I was finished with onto the stringy line beside my head and, stuffing pegs onto it, pulled the fabric across to cover my face.
All you could see were my eyes.
As I continued to add clothes to the line, the maids started to confuse the clean and dirty clothes, started to act stupid. They had been up all night, whispering about some stupid circus, and now it was showing who had really had a proper snooze.
But of course, as usual, the 'leader' didn't say a word. She just glared at me like it was my fault.

Later that night, as I shifted on the sheets, I dreamed of a great big circus. I dreamed of dancers and singers, trapeze artists and people just like me. I dreamed of a man that came to collect me.

There were a lot of things to dream about when you weren't perfect.