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Stories and Poetry of the Past |
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Mirror, Mirror It was a hideous reflection staring back at me. From the misshapen eyes and crooked nose to the quivering lips, there was no beauty to be found. I was once again filled with anger that I had been cursed for some unknown reason. All my life I had pleaded with some deity to bless me with a normal face. I wasn't greedy. I never asked to be a raving beauty. I wanted only to not stand out for the grotesque image I had come to loathe. "Doctor Melbourne, can we really do this? Will I look like that girl?" I said pointing at the computer model of me. "Yes, of course. Are you sure of your choices? Your bone structure is good. I can sculpt any of the faces on this page. I would think you might prefer model number two better. It is softer. It is the face of an aristocrat, regal and stunning." "I will be happy with anything. Beautiful isn't necessary, just different. I want the ugliness gone," I sobbed, letting the weight of an ugly and heavy burden drop from my shoulders. "I put the images on a CD for you. Give me your selections at the next appointment.. Have you been to see our counselor? That is a requirement for any surgical alterations. I think this is necessary for you." "I don't feel the need to discuss with a stranger my reasons for changing my grotesque appearance. Anyone can see why I want plastic surgery!" "That picture of yourself is distorted. The beauty of the new picture will be tainted as well. Please talk to the counselor, before we proceed." "Okay," On Monday I arrived at the office of Michael Chan. I talked, he listened. I cried, he comforted. There was no monumental breakthrough, but just getting the words out seemed to make me feel better. There was homework after the session. It involved looking in the mirror and changing the image that I saw. I was to tell myself the good things about the person staring back at me. It was a daunting task. A week after the operation, I went to have the bandages removed. I was eager to see the better version of me. Doctor Melbourne warned me that there would still be swelling and redness, and to give it a week for the final results. The change was remarkable. The image reflected a woman of beauty. The doctor explained that he had only to remove the mask that I had placed on myself. It was a grotesque mold I had painted as a child. The beauty had been waiting to come from the inside all of this time. I thanked him before gutting him like a fish. He bled out quickly. I wanted no witnesses to my prior ugliness. I erased the computer images. I headed to meet Michael Chan, believing that ugly does as ugly is. The pretty me was about to let a little ugly shine through. Word count 500 |
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