Don't Look At My Face, I'm Hideous

If you suspect there's something hideously wrong with your face, it's tempting to look at your reflection to reassure yourself everything is fine. That you are actually no more ghastly than normal. The trick is to avoid doing that until you're somewhere that you can process the information.

That's what I do. I turn and go back the way I came, back to the flat. It's not mine, exactly, but it's the closest thing I have to a home. It's private. Well, it's got a lock on the door, anyway, and there's nobody else there.

There's that lady, again. The one from earlier, with the pack of Daschunds. Four of the little buggers, all stumpy little legs and smooth coats. Shiny, black and tan little creatures with amber eyes and wagging tails. See, they look normal. Filled in. Complete. But the woman walking them... Ugh. Shuddering, I look away.

I hope I'm not too obvious about it. These people might be horrifying to look at, but I don't want them to think I'm rude.

My gaze lands on a little blonde girl playing on the green, and then skitters away just as quickly. It's no good. Her face, or what she has instead of a face, lingers in my mind. A fuzzy, skin-coloured blob framed by pale yellow strands.

Poor kid. Does she know she's a freak?

I shouldn't think that. I might be like it as well.

It doesn't take long to get back. There's my front door... I think. But it's red. Wasn't it blue before? I'm not sure. Not important.

I head upstairs, fumble with the key and shut myself in. It feels like a big sigh of relief.

Just this morning, the place felt sinister, like a cage. A place I wanted to get away from. Somewhere that was familiar, sort of, but also not. Definitely not home. Everything felt off-kilter and oppressive.

Now, it feels like a haven. A place to run to rather than from.

I peek round the bathroom door, hoping the place isn't wall to wall mirrors. It's not. Like everywhere else, it feels familiar. A little dated actually. My gran had a bathroom like this, with dark green fixtures instead of white. I The sink is right there, just inside the door, with the mirror above it. I take a deep breath.

Coward that I am, I grab the sink and pull myself to it with my eyes squeezed shut. I can't seem to unglue them but I have to know, I have to.

My chest aches, so I let the breath out slowly, promising myself that I'll open my eyes when I breathe in. I'm gripping the ceramic so hard I could almost leave the indents of my fingers in it. Why not? This world is crazy enough that anything could be possible.

That's what does it, in the end. I crack my lids, and peek down at my hands, still too chicken to look myself full in the whatever-I've-got-for-a-face. My hands look normal, and so does the sink. I drag my gaze upward and-

It's a good thing I'm holding tight to something sturdy, because I sag with relief or shock or something.

I look normal.

Well. The same as I usually do, anyway.

Emboldened, I lean closer to the mirror and peer at myself. That is how I normally look. Isn't it?

Maybe I really have gone insane, because, not bragging or anything, but I think I look a bit better. My cheekbones are more defined and so is my jaw. Wasn't my hairline receding a bit before?

I'm being ridiculous. Jana always says that some mirrors are kinder than others. I never understood what she meant before, but this must be it.

I do feel a bit better, knowing I don't have a blank, fleshy balloon where my face should be. I'm still surrounded by other people like that, though, and that's still freaky as hell. Do they really look like that, or is there something wrong with my eyes? Or my brain? How can I find out? It did feel like everyone was looking at me, but I often feel like that. Jana tells me I'm being a dork.

I'll have to be brave and venture out there. I'll have to talk to some people. The idea fills me with dread.

They talk just fine. At least, the downstairs neighbour managed it. How did she do that without a mouth? Logically, she must have a mouth, so it must be something wrong with me. This is not a pleasant thought, but it feels like a sane one, so I hold on to it anyway.

Unsure what to do next, and wishing to distract myself from my immediate problems, I switch on the TV. This is a bad move, because of course the people look just as messed up and faceless as everyone I saw outside. I gather from the brief spiel I caught from the news channel that somebody very important has arrived in town, but I don't wait to find out who it is, or whether they're another faceless monster.

I raid my own wardrobe for an oversized hoodie I can pull down over my face. If they all look like blob-faces to each other, and I have a proper nose and mouth and chin and two actual eyes, I will look like the freak.

I make myself another cheese toastie, and chew slowly, thinking of a plan.

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Thank you for reading!

If you'd like a gander at Part One (not essential, IMO) then you can see that here: