Two long months of waiting and now I get to leave.
My face is less in pain and the stitches are finally healed.
I examine my face in the mirror one last time.
It’s true, the stitches aren’t visible anymore.
The puffiness is gone too.
No more bandages. My face was bare. Exposed.
Free for everyone who wants to take a look at this face.
My eyes.. well, they were alright.
But my lips.. how I wish they could've done better.
Just a few changes but it's more or less the same.
This face with the ill deformed shape is still the same face that has been staring back at me all my life.
This face that’s just so different.
And although I have somehow started to learn accepting this face,
I’m still eager to make it better than it is.
I’m this close to getting what I’ve always wanted, there’s no turning back now.
But even though I look slightly different now, the question if I look better or even worse still echoes in my head.
A nervous and worried feeling emerges when I think about how different it might be to walk around outside.
So I discard the hospital gown and decide to change into an all black ensemble, my hair in a pony tail and my head covered in a shawl.
I wear black aviator shades to cover my eyes.
I carefully pack my things and make sure nothing is left behind.
I stare at the bottles that hold my pills with varied shapes and colors;
My magic pills that take me to the place where physical pain is unheard of and I can lose myself to sleep.
I shove them all in my bag and hear it rattle as I lift it off the floor.
I close the door to the room I have stayed in ever since this journey began.
I say goodbye and open the glass doors that will lead me back to reality.
I get in my car and drive away; and not once do I ever look back.
Off I go into another center faraway from here, with better doctors and better facilities.
And a better chance at being normal.
Or so I thought.
YOU ARE READING
Unpretty
Mystery / ThrillerIn this day and age, what truly defines being normal? What would you do just to fit in? (FIN)