'A Scar Is Just a Mark, Not a Burden but a Start of Something New.'
'A scar is just a mark, not a burden but a start of something new.’
My hair wouldn't cover the mark. It wouldn't hide the horrible mark that I would never be able to get rid of, that will tarnish my reflection for the rest of my life and beyond. It was nothing but hideous and I hated the sight of it, but I couldn't find a way to cover it at all.
It was a reminder. A reminder of the fact that clumsiness causes ugly people. That ugly people created themselves. If beauty was in the eye of the beholder, then beauty didn't exist in anything for me anymore. Everything was ugly. The entire world was ugly, and so was I.
Before was better. Before, everything was bright and new, and beauty was everywhere. Some people even found it in me; shallow little me. I couldn't believe anyone could be so downtrodden in a world like this, but here I am now, the leader of the downtrodden; the Queen of Cynics.
If I couldn't find any beauty in myself, how could I ever think anyone would find it in me?
The scar flared red.
It never really flared red, it hadn't been red since it had burned itself into my skin, but I kept seeing it. I kept seeing the long line of searing red dragging its way down my cheek, glaring at everyone. Everyone seemed to turn and run these days. That's where the glaring red came from. Whenever someone ran or shuffled away, it flared. It flared the moment I looked in the mirror, destroying every ounce of confidence I had recovered before they ran.
They always run.
It was more than just a mark to me. It felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. I couldn't do a thing with myself. I wanted the weight of the world lifted, I wanted everything to shine bright again, but I couldn't muster the energy to do it. The shine seemed to take up more energy than looking in the mirror, and I could never keep either of those up for long.
Today, I was living my robotic, weekly routine. Today was shopping day. It used to be something I would spend all day on, now it lasting even an hour was a torture I didn't think I could endure.
I was in the sauce aisle when it happened. I did something stupid. The glass slipped from my hand, coating the floor in a mixture of glass and Dolmio sauce. They all stared. Everyone. I could see it.
And there he was, work uniform and mop in hand. I was still there, too scared to move. They'd all stopped staring as much, now there were new people walking by and looking at me. Why had I drawn so much attention? They'd all seen it...
"Are you okay?" He asked, putting his mop bucket down and coming over to me. I looked up with a facial expression that resembled a deer caught in headlights (or so I've been told). There was something different when I looked at him; when he looked at me. There was no eyes inching toward the scar down the right side of my face, just concern for the girl sat terrified in the middle of the supermarket.
He made me realise just how ridiculous I was being. Just how silly I looked in the middle of the store, crouched and biting my nails, as though having flashbacks of some terrible event. They weren't staring at me because of my scar, they were staring at me because I was acting ridiculous.
I bit my lip, smiling up at him, and thinking of the cheesiest line I could.
"Better now you're here," I replied. He laughed, holding out his hand.
Taking it was the best thing I could have ever done for myself. He didn't know until much later just how true the first words I spoke to him were. He helped me in ways I couldn't ever have helped myself.
The world seemed to shine again after that; I found the beauty again, and I stopped being the shallow little girl I had been acting like all my life; I finally felt good, almost no matter what.
This scar used to be such a burden, weighing me down in every part of my life. Until he came along. When he came along, it helped me start something completely new; something better than I could have gotten before.
It was a reminder. A reminder of the fact that clumsiness causes ugly people. That ugly people created themselves. If beauty was in the eye of the beholder, then beauty didn't exist in anything for me anymore. Everything was ugly. The entire world was ugly, and so was I.
Before was better. Before, everything was bright and new, and beauty was everywhere. Some people even found it in me; shallow little me. I couldn't believe anyone could be so downtrodden in a world like this, but here I am now, the leader of the downtrodden; the Queen of Cynics.
If I couldn't find any beauty in myself, how could I ever think anyone would find it in me?
The scar flared red.
It never really flared red, it hadn't been red since it had burned itself into my skin, but I kept seeing it. I kept seeing the long line of searing red dragging its way down my cheek, glaring at everyone. Everyone seemed to turn and run these days. That's where the glaring red came from. Whenever someone ran or shuffled away, it flared. It flared the moment I looked in the mirror, destroying every ounce of confidence I had recovered before they ran.
They always run.
It was more than just a mark to me. It felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. I couldn't do a thing with myself. I wanted the weight of the world lifted, I wanted everything to shine bright again, but I couldn't muster the energy to do it. The shine seemed to take up more energy than looking in the mirror, and I could never keep either of those up for long.
Today, I was living my robotic, weekly routine. Today was shopping day. It used to be something I would spend all day on, now it lasting even an hour was a torture I didn't think I could endure.
I was in the sauce aisle when it happened. I did something stupid. The glass slipped from my hand, coating the floor in a mixture of glass and Dolmio sauce. They all stared. Everyone. I could see it.
And there he was, work uniform and mop in hand. I was still there, too scared to move. They'd all stopped staring as much, now there were new people walking by and looking at me. Why had I drawn so much attention? They'd all seen it...
"Are you okay?" He asked, putting his mop bucket down and coming over to me. I looked up with a facial expression that resembled a deer caught in headlights (or so I've been told). There was something different when I looked at him; when he looked at me. There was no eyes inching toward the scar down the right side of my face, just concern for the girl sat terrified in the middle of the supermarket.
He made me realise just how ridiculous I was being. Just how silly I looked in the middle of the store, crouched and biting my nails, as though having flashbacks of some terrible event. They weren't staring at me because of my scar, they were staring at me because I was acting ridiculous.
I bit my lip, smiling up at him, and thinking of the cheesiest line I could.
"Better now you're here," I replied. He laughed, holding out his hand.
Taking it was the best thing I could have ever done for myself. He didn't know until much later just how true the first words I spoke to him were. He helped me in ways I couldn't ever have helped myself.
The world seemed to shine again after that; I found the beauty again, and I stopped being the shallow little girl I had been acting like all my life; I finally felt good, almost no matter what.
This scar used to be such a burden, weighing me down in every part of my life. Until he came along. When he came along, it helped me start something completely new; something better than I could have gotten before.