Andrew Puckett

The Lady of The Lake

There once was a girl in the Pacific Northwest who held everything in the palm of her hand. Hers was a life of luxury, of affluence and influence – her childhood was served on a silver platter, as she was attended by a devoted mother, a doting father, and free of siblings to ruin the course of their favoritism. A staff assisted her when needed, modest but respectable, and she wanted for nothing. Her upbringing echoed the stories spun by Hollywood, which lay in the foothills of her haven – she was the envy of her age, her school, her community, and soon, much more. She lacked obstacles, and every opportunity awaited her. She set the stage, the scene, the mood, she was the life of the party, and the aspiration of all. She was a leader, a bold pioneer (of what, we cannot tell), and loud for all the world to hear – and they all followed. Every word. Every picture. Every carefully framed moment. Every curated thought, recycled, repacked, rebranded, and repainted as something new. She was incredibly important, she thought, and without fault, she knew (aside from minor character flaws – caring too much, thinking too deeply, and her love of dairy) – or so she thought she knew.