The Face

When you look in the mirror who do you see? Do you see the real you, the fake you -the one with all that make up? Or the face of one who has been damaged? I’m interested in knowing, knowing what it feels like to recognise your own smile and eyes. Because mine are lost, deep in my mind, so far down, that miners will never be able to dig them out. It is the most valuable jewel that anyone can give to me; what I looked like before. But I do not want to see it, I do not want to see it; even if is was the most precious and rare jewel on the planet.

****

The school gates had been opened, gulping back tears, I edged towards them. Nervous about the new year, the kids that I’ll be put in with, and which teacher will I have this year. This might have been at the back of my mind, but I was more scared of the zombie who’d been haunting my dreams the past few years. Frankenstein.

****

Hurrying out of the house, down the road, and round the corner, I worried about the state of the house. It looked like a bomb had hit it. That made me stop, I was already late for work -the bank round the corner.

Last night had been a rough one, all I remember was the window; I had to get in through the window. My housemate was having his stag do round the corner, in the Small Pub, the one with the one eyed man. Was there a vampire there as well? God I must have been drunk.

Grav stopped me, holding his badge scanner out. “Late?”

“Will’s stag.”

“Oh.”

I sat down at my booth, the white flooring spinning in my vision, and the numbers on the cash machine whizzing around in my mind. Not that I wasn’t thinking about last night, but what was it that Will gave me as a goodbye gift? It was small and had wires sticking out of it. And I was almost sure that there was something else ticking other than the grandfather clock that night, was it the gift? Or was it the crocodile who swallowed the clock?

My day hurried past, eager to end the onslaught of people who craved their money. Shrugging on the canvas bomber jacket, that had been slumped over my chair the morning before, I made my way home -on the tube- pausing to buy the Metropolitan, and again to catch the bus to where I lived. Taking notice of the new things that I hadn’t noticed this morning, like the new busker, with the afro, singing out of tune swifty songs; how could the city council pay him, I remember thinking.

Only the sound of my footsteps could be heard, over the hum of silence, this part of London was only ever inhabited at night; by the sluts that lived in the run down houses. It was never my choice to live here, and never did I see so much crime happen right before my very eyes. Fires were a frequent ‘mishap’ and so were the thefts. It was the third time in a year that I had walked down this street, and seen the two drunk men; slurring around in their filth. The smell of them gagging me as I walked past. Not only did I see their disappointed eyes, but the teeth that had never been brushed, sticking out at odd angles -the ones that were left anyway.

The brown door welcomed me, the damp same smell of home; the smell that signified the end of the working day. Plain walls accompanied this smell, the white walls turning the place into a public place; the cheap kitchen worktop, and the health and safety instructions over the cooker. Pants spread everywhere, and the present on the kitchen table.

****

This is all I remember of that day. Waking up in hospital, that what I remember next; blinding light, everything gleaming white. Smelling the plain smell of hospital, I tried to sit up. Rough hands shoved me back down. When my eyes had adjusted, a mirror was handed to me.

Straining my eyes, I could just make out the nose, the rest of me was covered in scar tissue. I looked ugly. Like the frankenstein's monster only my worst nightmare, dreams of him had haunted me. Following me around, and around; chasing my childhood away.