This Year's Model She was twenty-four; a tall, striking blonde with a beautiful smile. She was eminently photogenic. This she knew because everyone told her so several times a day; her employers, the cameramen and all her social acquaintances. Also, of course, there was the fact that her face was imprinted on a thousand magazines and television advertisements. Whenever she saw herself in a picture she could hardly believe it was herself staring with limpid eyes and a charming, soulless smile at the public.

Even her daily life was impersonal; she had no good friends and lived in luxurious hotels with never a friendly smile except from paid servants. And several times a week she would be standing in front of a camera, manoeuvred by highly professional cameramen and directors. She was a wonderful product when they finally clicked their shutters.

Since she had left home she had lost any sense of having roots in any one city or town; moving from place to place, living in hotels as she did. Outwardly she seemed to lead an extraordinarily frictionless life, everyone was extremely friendly towards her or at least her image. It seemed to her that there was no one who liked her for herself; no one knew what she was like when she was alone. She had never been back home except once, when she quickly found out how out of place she now was. She soon tired of the awkward silences between her and the ordinary people she met. This was what she had found out most recently; that she was a stranger in the world beyond plush hotel suites and artificial studio lighting. She was a prisoner of her job. And until she was reluctantly thrown on the heap she could not rejoice in the title of last year's model. It was what she longed for; and feared. Michael Baptiste 4A

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