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MidReal Story
City Girl Series
Scenario: Simple hillbilly girl with two braids and dirty feet has won big house in big city. When she arrives to the city she sees that everything is pink and clean. The city looks like beauty salon. All girls in this city look like bimbo. Her house looks like Barbie's Dream house with swimming pool and own beach. She sees herself in the mirror. She sees her hillbilly cloth and terrible hairstyle. She says that she should take bubble bath and makeover to become pretty. Everyone likes stylish and pretty girls, so she decides to visit beauty salon. After makeover she becomes very stylish girl with manicure and pedicure. After makeover she buys new cloth and new pink bikini. Everything in the house automatic. Finally, after makeover she becomes a famous model.
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Ashlyn Watson
She is a rural girl from a small town, winning a contest to live in a luxurious city house. She is naive, selfdeprecating, and determined. Arriving in the city, she is overwhelmed by its glamour but struggles with her country roots. Her transformation from a rough, unkempt girl to a sophisticated model is swift and dramatic. Encountering city life's challenges, she seeks guidance and support, eventually embracing her new persona and gaining recognition.
I never thought in my life I would get to live in a grand house such as this.
I had won the contest, of course.
I had been the lucky one.
But I still couldn’t get over how lucky I was to have this house given to me.
It was beyond amazing.
The huge black iron gates slowly opened and I drove through them with my jaw hanging wide open.
Everything was so pink and pretty, like a beauty salon, not a house.
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
The girls walking down the street had their hair done in beautiful styles, make-up on their faces, clothes that looked like they belonged in a magazine, and shoes that sparkled like diamonds.
They were beautiful, no doubt about it, and I couldn’t help but stare at them as if they were something out of a dream.
I felt so dirty and rough in my two braids and no make-up, with my feet filthy from walking without shoes on the hot bitumen when I got here.
My clothes were plain and simple, nothing fancy or expensive.
I sighed as I realized how out of place I was here.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, staring at my reflection in the rearview mirror.
My dirty braids mock me, reminding me of the farm back home.
Through the windshield, I watch another group of women strut past my car, their heels clicking on the pristine sidewalk.
My hands shake as I reach for the door handle.
The car feels safe, like a cocoon protecting me from their judging eyes.
Taking a deep breath, I push the door open.
The warm air hits my face as I swing my legs out.
"Welcome to the neighborhood," a voice chirps, startling me as I step out of the car.
I look up to see a woman with perfectly styled hair and a smile that seems too wide.
"Don't worry, darling," she continues, her eyes glinting with something I can't quite place, "you'll fit in soon enough—once you learn the rules."
I park my rusty pickup beside a spotless pink Porsche and follow the woman up the marble steps.
She clicks her stilettos against each stair while my muddy boots leave brown marks that make me cringe with every step.
At the entrance, she pulls out a golden key card and swipes it through a sleek panel.
The massive white door swings open silently, revealing a foyer bigger than my old living room.
Crystal chandeliers sparkle overhead, and the marble floor gleams so bright I can see my dirty reflection.
My hands shake as I clutch my duffel bag closer.
Standing alone in the foyer, I catch my full reflection in a floor-to-ceiling mirror.
I can't look away.
My overalls are worn and patched, the stitches sewn by Grandma's careful hands.
My braids stick out at odd angles, and dirt cakes the edges of my fingernails from working in the garden yesterday.
The pristine white walls and gleaming surfaces make every imperfection stand out worse.
I reach up to touch one of my braids, feeling the rough strands against my fingertips.
Outside, I see the silky hair of the women who just passed me, and a pang of longing hits my chest.
My hand drops to my muddy boots, leaving a dark smudge on the polished floor.
Feeling ashamed of the muddy footprints, I bend down to unlace my work boots.
My calloused fingers fumble with the frayed laces.
The boots are caked with red clay from back home, and I carefully set them beside the door.
My wool socks have holes in the toes, and the cold marble floor bites at my skin as I wander down the hallway.
I peek into rooms, trying to find a place that feels like mine.
Finally, I spot a bathroom bigger than my old bedroom.
Crystal sconces frame a mirror that stretches from floor to ceiling, and a claw-foot tub sits like a queen in the center of the room.
I stand there in awe, my toes curling against the cold marble.
The tub sits on a raised platform like an altar, and golden faucets shaped like swans curve out of the wall.
Thick white towels hang perfectly aligned on heated racks, and rows of expensive lotions line glass shelves like sacred offerings.
My dirty reflection multiplies infinitely in the mirrored walls.
Every speck of dirt stands out against the pristine white surfaces.
I reach out with trembling fingers to touch the golden swan faucet.
The metal gleams under the crystal lights, and I marvel at how it shines like liquid gold.
The metal is cool and smooth against my calloused skin.
When I turn the handle, warm water gushes out in a perfect arc, filling the room with its gentle song.
As the water hits the porcelain tub, tiny rainbows dance in the mist.
The sound echoes off the marble walls, filling the massive bathroom.
Steam begins to rise, fogging the mirrors and softening my reflection.
I spot fancy bottles of pink bubble bath on a shelf and grab one.
I reach for the ornate glass bottle of bubble bath, my calloused hands nearly slipping on its smooth surface.
The thick pink liquid pours slowly, creating a stream of pearly ribbons as it hits the running water.
I lean over the tub's edge, watching the foam build up in delicate mounds.
The sweet scent of roses and vanilla fills my nose, so different from the earthy smells of home.
When I touch the water to test its temperature, my dirty fingernails stand out against the pristine white tub and pink bubbles.
I pick up a yellow rubber duck from the shelf of bath toys.
It stares at me with its cheerful face, so different from my nervous expression.
My trembling fingers work to undo the messy braids that have held my hair back for days.
The strands fall around my shoulders in dirty clumps.
I peel off my sweaty overalls and threadbare t-shirt, letting them fall in an untidy heap on the pristine floor.
I test the water with my toes, gripping the edge of the tub for balance.
The warm water welcomes me as I lower myself in, sending waves of bubbles over the edge.
I reach for the pink loofah hanging from a golden hook.
The delicate mesh texture is so different from the rough washcloth I used back home.
The expensive soap creates thick lather as I scrub my arms, watching dirt swirl away in the water.
Each stroke reveals cleaner, pinker skin underneath the farm grime.
I pay special attention to my calloused hands and feet, though the thick skin refuses to soften easily.
"Why are you here, really?" a voice echoes from the doorway, startling me.
I turn to see my sister leaning against the frame, arms crossed, her eyes sharp and questioning.
"I needed to remember what it feels like to be clean," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
I sink deeper into the warm water, letting the pink bubbles rise around me.
The foam multiplies rapidly, spilling over the tub's edges onto the marble floor.
I try to reach the faucet to turn it off, but my wet hands slip on the golden swan's neck.
More bubbles keep forming, creating towers of foam that now reach my chin.
The sweet scent becomes overwhelming as the bathroom fills with a wall of pink bubbles.
I close my eyes, surrendering to the chaos of comfort.
I reach up to wipe the soap from my face, but instead, I accidentally create a towering mass of bubbles on my head.
The pink foam molds itself into a ridiculous shape, like some fancy hat I once saw in a magazine.
When I try to brush it away, my hands only make it bigger and more elaborate.
The bubbles stick together stubbornly, refusing to pop.
I catch my reflection in the foggy mirror - a country girl wearing a crown of pink foam in a marble palace.
I stand up in the tub, dripping with water and crowned with a mountain of pink bubbles.
My feet slip slightly on the smooth porcelain as I strike an exaggerated pose, one hand on my hip and chin lifted high like those fancy magazine models.
More bubbles slide down my shoulders, creating a frothy cape.
The steam-clouded mirrors multiply my reflection, showing me from different angles.
Despite my awkward stance and pruned fingers, I hold the pose, giggling at how ridiculous I look.
I reach for the plush white robe hanging on a golden hook.
My pruned fingers fumble with the soft fabric.
The thick terry cloth feels foreign against my skin, now softened by the bubble bath.
Water drips onto the marble floor as I struggle to tie the robe's belt.
I'm not used to such luxurious garments.
My wet hair leaves dark patches on the pristine white fabric while I attempt to twist it into the fluffy towel.
The absurdity of it all makes me laugh, echoing through the opulent bathroom like a joyful rebellion.
I adjust the plush robe around my shoulders, the unfamiliar softness making my skin tingle.
Standing before the wall of mirrors, I notice how the white fabric brightens my freshly scrubbed face.
Pink bubbles still cling to my wet hair, sliding down my neck.
I attempt a regal pose, lifting my chin and straightening my back like those city women outside.
The marble floor feels cool beneath my bare feet as I take small steps, practicing an elegant walk.
I pause at the doorway, feeling like an imposter in this world of luxury, yet savoring the moment as if it were my own.
I follow a trail of water droplets from my wet feet across the marble hallway.
The cool floor sends a shiver up my spine as I search for my bedroom.
I open a white door with golden handles, revealing an enormous room painted in various shades of pink.
Floor-to-ceiling windows allow sunlight to spill in, casting a warm glow.
A crystal chandelier hangs above a canopy bed draped in silk, its sheer curtains billowing gently.
My attention is drawn to two massive white doors along one wall.
I approach them cautiously, pulling them open to reveal a walk-in closet bigger than the kitchen back at the farm.
Empty hangers line the walls, and glass shelves display nothing but dust.
"Isn't it strange to see it all empty?" a voice says from behind me, startling me.
I turn to find Clara leaning against the doorframe, her eyes scanning the closet with a wistful smile.
"Mom always said she'd fill it with dresses from every corner of the world," she adds softly, her voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and sadness.
I walk deeper into the empty closet, my fingers trailing along the bare hangers.
The air is thick with the scent of fresh paint and the distant hint of perfume.
Suddenly, a strange humming sound fills the air, causing the metal rods to vibrate.
Before I can step back, clothes materialize out of nowhere.
Designer dresses in every color imaginable appear on hangers, while shoes line up on shelves and accessories fill the drawers.
I stumble backward as more items keep appearing - silk blouses, leather pants, and sequined gowns crowd the space.
Clara gasps behind me as a rack of evening wear materializes right in front of us.
"Did you know about this?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Clara shakes her head, eyes wide with disbelief.
"No, but it seems Mom's dreams weren't just dreams after all," she replies, her voice filled with awe and a hint of fear.
I run my fingers along the racks of newly materialized clothes, stopping at a section that catches my eye.
It's sleepwear - soft fabrics and delicate lace trim.
My eyes land on a pale pink silk pajama set with intricate patterns and a matching robe.
I pull it from the hanger, feeling the fabric slide smoothly through my rough fingers.
Next to it, I spot a pair of slippers with tiny bows, lined with soft fleece.
When I check the size, they're exactly my fit.
Clara watches silently as I clutch these items to my chest, still wrapped in my damp bathrobe.
"I'll leave you to get changed," Clara says, stepping out of the closet and closing the door behind her.
I stand there for a moment, clutching the silky pink pajamas against my chest.
The wet bathrobe drops to the floor with a soft thud.
Carefully, I unfold the delicate garments.
The pants slide smoothly over my clean legs, but I fumble with the drawstring, unused to such fine materials.
When I slip on the matching top, the buttons prove challenging for my trembling fingers.
Standing before the full-length mirror, I adjust the collar and notice how the silk drapes differently than my old flannel nightgown.
The door creaks open, and Clara peeks in, her eyes widening as she sees me in the mirror.
"Wow, you look like you belong here," she says, a hint of envy in her voice.
I smile awkwardly, still adjusting to the luxury. "It's strange, isn't it? Like stepping into someone else's life."
I turn to Clara, noticing her worn jeans and scuffed boots.
They remind me of my own state just hours ago.
The silk pants swish around my legs as I walk to her.
"You should try the bubble bath," I say, gesturing toward the bathroom.
"There's another silk set in the closet that would fit you perfectly."
Clara hesitates, her fingers fidgeting with the frayed hem of her shirt.
I take her hand and lead her to the bathroom.
Turning on the golden faucets, warm water begins to flow into the tub.