Scars

Ugly Walls

The place I work at is ugly. Everything in it is ugly. I quickly grab the ugly bucket from the ugly closet that holds all of the ugly "no name brand" cleaning supplies. I start to mop the ugly yellow tiles that people have stomped across the day before. I head to the locker rooms where I pick up the disgusting pieces of trash that were left lying around. I wipe the mirror until I see my reflection. I don't stop wiping; I wonder if by wiping hard enough I could wash away the ugliness scarred across my face. Wiping doesn't help. I shake the dark memories starting to prickle in the back of my head. I throw the cloth into the bucket laying on the floor and walk into the next room over. I pass the showers and walk across the hall to see the only beautiful thing here.

I stop and breath in the smell: chlorine. The smell burns the back of my throat and makes the air seem thicker than it actually is. The light reflects the pool's bright blue color across my body as I take my shirt and sweat pants off. I'm standing in my swim suit as I grab the google out of my bag and put them on. As I do this I grab the notebook out of my bag. The pages are worn and old. I open the first page and look at the pictures taped to it. I look at her happy face, the two of us smiling into the camera together. I guess my Dad took the picture, it seems impossible to think that he would even care enough to show up. I look at the features of the woman: her long dark hair was wet from the water, her eyes were a blue that matched the bright pools we would swim in together. My mum was beautiful. I never looked like her, we had the same dark hair but eyes were brown like mud. She used to tell me that I would grow up and be the prettiest girl ever. I used to believe her, I used to wonder when I would look exactly like her. But now, now I can't even walk down the street without someone stopping to look at my face. They stare in horror at the bright red scars slashed across my face. It's always the same: their eyes widen, their mouth is probably still open from the conversation they were having. I start to feel a prickle in the back of my eyes and quickly flip the pages.

"I can't cry, I mustn't cry, I won't cry." I think to myself in determination. I find the workout halfway through the book. Each page is filled with her training routines. Every workout she ever did she wrote down in this book.

"These will be yours someday, Emma," she told me when I asked why she wrote everything down, "when you're older you might want something to look at. Just to get started."

"I'll have you, Mummy," I had said as I lost interest in the book. "You idiot." I whisper to myself as I remember. I shake the memories away, there wasn't time to think about them. School was going to start soon, and I needed to to get my workout in. Like pull the goggles over my head and step onto the block.

I take a deep breath an dive into the inviting water. The minutes I touch the water a calm washes over me. Starting from my fingertips the dark memories are washed away as I submerge into the water. I kick my legs powerfully through the after and just when oxygen becomes necessary I break out of the water. My arms burst from the water as I take one deep breath. I get into a rhythm; arms out, kick, kick. Arms out, kick, kick. Take a breath and back into the water. My back arched as I fly through the water until I reach the wall; I flip myself over an shoot off in the other direction. I pull up to the wall and look at my time, 31 seconds. "Not my best, but it will do." I think to myself as I rest for five seconds and push off again. My rhythm starts again; I push myself to go faster. After about an hour and a half has passed I pull myself out of the water grabbing the towel from my bag. I quickly dry my arms and legs and throw everything into my bag. I carefully close her book and wrap it in two plastic bags so it doesn't get wet and damaged.

"So you're the mystery swimmer," a voice calls from behind me.

It startles me so much that I yelp. Yeah embarrassing, I know. I couldn't believe it, no one is ever here this early. I slowly turn my head to look at him, I have now mastered looking at someone without them seeing the ugly slashed across the right side of my face. The guy looked like he was my age, maybe a year older. His hair was dark brown a buzzed...a swimmer's hair maybe.

"You're the one who comes here every morning to swim aren't you?" The guy asked me as he casually leans a little to the left to make full eyes contact with me. I reciprocate by turning mine to the right subtly enough to make it look like I was brushing the hair away from my face.

I open my mouth to say something when the stop-watch goes off by my bag. I turn my head to look at it. Before I realize my mistake I hear him suck in his breath. I freeze, I can't move; I want to scream and run away.

"Wow," he whispers.

That's all I need to grab my bag and run into the girl's locker room. I slam the door when I hear him in pursuit. His footsteps stop at the door, "I'm so sorry." I hear him whisper. I don't speak, I don't even move, too afraid he would hear and think he should try and talk again. A minute passes and I hear his fort steps fade. I bite the knuckles on my hand to stop myself from screaming. The stop-watch goes off again to remind me the time. If i wasn't running so late I would've smashed the thing to pieces.

I quickly use the janitors key to unlock the hair-dryer and take 50 cents out. I close the box and put the money back in. I dry my hair as fast as I can, wanting to get as far away from this place as possible. I run to the exit and peer out into the empty hallway. Taking a deep breath I bolt out the door. I pray I never see that guy again; I wonder if ill need to start coming earlier. It looked like the guy worked there, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to get into the building. I wonder if I need to start coming earlier. I reach the bus stop just as it is about to leave.

The driver says something about keeping him waiting, but I don't listen. I just make sure my good is drawn across my face as I sit in the first seat. I dread this place even more than my house when Dad's had too much to drink.

I want to know who the guy is and why he is there. He must think I'm a monster. I press my scarred face against the cold window, and ignore the prickle of tears I'm feeling. The cold window relaxes me as the big yellow bus comes to life to drive me to Hell.