Fix Me

WARNING: This story does contain some graphic descriptions about skin and surgery, even though the surgery I described is more metaphorical. It's a sarcastic piece on beauty ideals and how they change

They took a knife and carved off the blemishes on my face. Then placed them in a jar for me to look at on the table. Then it was time for the eyes. Mine were dark brown, but it’s okay. Everything can be fixed. One eye at a time, replaced by brilliant blue eyes and they put my old eyes in the same jar as the blemishes. I couldn’t see very well, but that’s okay. My hair was shaved down to nothing, and a blond wig was placed near the door for me to put on after we were done. My nose was sloped, but they fixed it by injecting gel and molding it to a small, pert nose. I couldn’t smell, but it’s okay. My lips were next, and they didn’t do much except put on some red paint. Then they took the knife and carved some fat from my cheeks which they placed in the jar. Lastly, coated my whole face in a fresh layer of paint. My complexion became lighter and my cheeks were now rosy. They left me there to dry before moving on to my body. I took a look around the surgical suite and admired the metal glistening under the fluorescent light. I could feel the paint hardening up on my face, and smiled. I was so thankful they could fix me, since some people told me I was beyond repair. I looked at the door, which had opened a crack due to the wind. Soon I’d be able to join the outside world. There wasn’t much to do while everything was settling into place, so I was just looking around and saw the checklist taped onto the cupboard, and sighed. 

“I’ll be done eventually.” I whispered to no one in particular.

But I got a little discouraged at the length of the list.

They came back into the suite and lined up the tools they would then use. 

The doctor entered along with everyone else, she does everything concerning bodies.

She poked my face and watched it bounce back, and checked her glove to see if my paint had come off. The first thing she did was cut off some fat from my stomach, mostly around my sides and then placed them on my chest. This part was messy and didn’t look very professional but they assured me that they would fix everything. She used medical tape to tape them on after she shaped them, then opened a cooler and pulled out a fresh sheet of skin to put over top. Next, she sewed it on and repeated the same for the other one. I looked at my chest, and saw how they fixed me. 

The other procedures didn’t take long, thankfully. However they were immensely painful. My body was covered with the same paint as my face, and I was left to dry once again. This time, under special lights to speed up the process.

A man in the corner was busy styling my wig, and sometime during my procedures, someone had put out a mannequin with my outfit. I could see out of the corner of my eye, the doctor marking the jar “flaws” before handing it to someone to be disposed of properly.

Finally, I was dry. The man helped me put on the wig, I changed into my outfit, and the last step was to step on the scale. Luckily, I was the correct weight and they gave me a pass. If I wasn’t, they’d have to hold me back and do more reduction surgeries. 

They opened the door to the outside world, and I took a breath of fresh air which was a nice change from the humid and heated surgical suite. 

When I opened my eyes, I saw girls that looked exactly like me. I chuckled with glee, before remembering I wasn’t supposed to talk loudly given the neck and throat procedures I had done. 

Suddenly, an alarm went off. An ear-splitting alarm, as well as a collective sigh of exasperation when we saw the billboard. There was a picture of a curvaceous woman with dark wavy hair, tan skin, and long legs. Everyone lined up outside the suite once again to get their surgeries re-done. I nearly cried in disappointment. I was the last one in the line, again, and accepted that my life would be a never ending cycle of surgeries. At least they’ll fix me,  I thought before being handed my checklist.

Reviews

[Vertigo Cat1111]

An amazing story, about the neverending cycle of beauty standards. First, skinny, then curvy, light skin, then tan skin. It never ends and that's why it's best to be us, and you captured that here perfectly! The writing was fantastic and superb as usual.

[Kent Rawski]

Playing with your Barbies attaching legs arms and heads to make them perfect, conditions you for later in life perhaps this is woman's curse the chase of beauty to be admired to make oneself significant

[Wórdsmíth]

something realistic not only limited to words but also well captured via thoughts of redemption - truthfulness to one's body w/ beauty.. adored by the world, esp. when it's covered & coated w/ something flashy and attractiveness even besides of one's scars or deep inner feelings...

.. there's hardly the one who understands or will ev'r understand the 'Worth' of one's life & the 'Value' of one's presence or love until it's all faded away. mostly, i see it happens when we are in love, we want our partner to get restricted to some things which further makes our partner loose her own worth; own identity and own way of living...

.. when love becomes burden & one's existence starts drenching you down to life, it's the time to get 'Fixed'.. perhaps, it's never that easy to get fixed.. cos it's an on-going process - getting fixed and again broken - and every moment you go to get fixed, there's always something painful comes around, undisguised.

and honestly speaking, after reading this story, i re-read your 'A Plant's Heart' which i had read earlier today; yesternight.. under URL: https://www.writerscafe.org/writing/2112olivia/2487923/.. and i can now relate both of these two stuffs and resonate the value of one's worth and rights, esp. when it comes to love and feelings.

you have a way of writing; playing w/ words & identical thoughts very well. i must say, you must have at it.. & keep writing. 100/100

always looking forward to reading your work, Olivia.

[Olivia Danielle]

I really, really appreciate you taking time to read my writing. It means a lot that you take time out of your day to read what I've written about some of the most difficult points of my life. Thank you, always.

[Wórdsmíth]

i always admire people sharing their feelings, esp. in words.. cos more than my time, it's you who find time to speak the heart, more specifically the moments that sometimes we don't even wanna remember... so writing them down in words n having it all captured takes a lot of courage.. so why thank u for sharing n replying as well...

or may be, why i love ur writing is cos i have also been through same phases of love-life. so i understand how it feels.. sometimes even i make or have made plenty of mistakes which i know can never do correct for her. it's sad to be saying but the reality is, when we realize valuing someone, it becomes too late even to have them back in life... or have things/relations put back on mend...

.. so i believe, we all should respect not only people but even the "Love" itself as well.