Saturday, May 21, 2011


She avoids mirrors and goes out only in the dark, even then covering her face. She has become a shrouded recluse, hiding behind curtains and doors, unable to bear the stares of children shocked and silenced by her molten skin, the ribboned scars congealed on ravaged flesh. Was it acid, fire, or disease? Was she born this way? They cannot imagine her Before. And now she cannot either, for she dares not think of who she was Before. Before is at an end – this is her After life. Once she worried about her nose. Now she wishes she had one.


  1. How awful. Sounds like something I heard on CBC this week. Love the ending.

  2. Morbid, I admit, for a sunny spring long weekend. Just wait until tomorrow's post... Then I'll return to lighter fare (I promise!)


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