Marked For Life

My hands trembled in fear as I forced myself to pick up the mirror. I stared at my face in disbelief, because when I looked, I could recognise myself. I still had the same eyes and drab lifeless brown hair. I almost looked the same. What divided my face from being stereotypically me was the unusually shocking was a scar. It looked like a huge like a huge red snake slithering across my face, spreading its poisonous venom, separating it into two opposite halves. The blood in the scar glistened as the light caught it. In my mind, my face looked hideous, like a mask, I wanted it removed. I carefully raised my hands and begun to scratch, slap, pinch and pull at my misshapen face, hoping for a miracle. I tried and tried, repeating the torture again and again, until I felt faint, until I felt the blood trickling down my forehead, this mask covering my face, was stuck. Stuck, there with the strongest force possible. I was overcome with defeat; I could not help myself, with one forced movement I raised my hand, sending the mirror hurling towards the wall. The mirror shattered crashing down.

Several minutes and deep breaths later, I eventually calmed down. I felt worry lines deeply crease across my forehead, liquid slowly dripped into my eye, blurring my vision. My legs shuddered unsteadily as I moved progressively across the room, cautiously avoiding the fragments which remained. Then something gleaming caught my eye; a large unbroken piece of mirror. I heard my sigh fill the room as I inclined forward to grasp it in my hand.  My fingers warily closed over the   irregular edges. It felt piercing inside my little bruised hand, prodding me from every direction. I held it nearby to my marked, sore face for a closer look. I gazed deeper into it. The scar was still there not removed, what surrounded it damaged my face more; a luminous red puffy, swollen eye. Above that was a cut. The blood was flowing fast, like a never ending red waterfall, which would surely leave another scar, upon this already damaged face. I was petrified of my face; it was full of distorted swirling red scars and pale white stitches. The devastation caused was irreversible. I was stuck like this, for eternity. My life was over, before it had begun.

Seconds passed and I slowly dropped the piece of mirror from my hand, colliding it with the floor. It smashed against the floor, sending the mirror into hundred of shattered pieces. Each broken mirror piece held misshapen piece of my face, making it seem more deformed than ever before. The distorted image, forced itself upon my memory to the darkest corners of my mind, hiding itself away, so that I could never forget it. I wanted the memories to go; I wanted the memories to go. I wanted to overcome and defeat my fears; a first day at a new school could not be that difficult. I reached up and enclosed my silver engraved locket in my fist; I carefully undid the clasp and gazed in at the picture inside. It was me, just before the accident. Looking at the picture made me forget the warped thing that I called a face. I let the locket go and it hung loosely around my neck. I took one nervous step forward avoiding the shards around my feet. I reached my door and braced myself against it. I never thought that I could make it to the door.