Faceless

Thursday Feb 14, 20XX

Red and blue flashes throughout my room from the window. Men stand outside with their weapons drawn calling for me to “come out with my hands up!" But that isn’t happening. I have a gun and a single bullet in the magazine waiting for my cue. I’ve heard that in situations like these, it is customary to leave a note. So before I clock out, I’ll go ahead and tell you why I did what I did. 

I don’t care if it happened when I was six years old, there’s no way I could possibly forget. The flames burned so hot, that moment will stay singed in my memories until my dying moments. A car accident caused by a drunk driver, or so I’ve heard, flipped our car, and gas began to pour out from the cracked gas tank. It leaked onto me. Something, I’m still am unaware what it was, sparked the gas, igniting it. The flame raced towards my face, and before my father was able to pull me out of harms way, the flame blazed across my face, burning my gasoline soaked skin like a candle. After my father pulled me out, he took off his shirt and used it smolder the flames, but the damage was done. Daddy’s little girl was now a monster. 

I had been reminded of that fact everyday at school for years to come. Friends left, potential lovers ran and everyone... laughed. I was insulted constantly. In the early years I was called “fire face." Not that great of an insult, but what can you expect of children. But as the years went on, their insults got more clever, more hurtful. I was  called a “witch that survived” you know, because of the Salem Witch Trials. I’ve been under constant scrutiny by everyone I have met. Except for Julie. I called her Jules (Jewels) because to me she was a rare gem, who was able to look at me and see through my mangled face. She was indeed a precious friend I never wanted to let go of.

But even she was as corrupted as the rest. By happenstance, I happened to go to the restroom during class (this was around last year in my sophomore year of high school) and I overheard her talking with some of her other friends I didn’t like (They didn’t treat me as nicely as Jules). They were talking s**t to Jules, about how they couldn’t believe she continued to treat me like a friend and that she needed to ditch me. After dropping that bomb on her, they took their leave. I quickly maneuvered around the corner to avoid running into them. Once they were gone, I returned to where Jules was. I walked up and touched her shoulder to try and console her. However, she smacked my hand away.

“What’s wrong Jules?” I asked her. Still facing away from me, she began to talk.

“Do you know why I keep you around? Well, do you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I keep you around because you make me look good! Compared to your disgusting face, I’m a goddess. And you know what? It isn’t working anymore. So I don’t want you around me anymore.” As she finished, she began walking away. 

At this point, I’m sure you think I’d just start breaking down and start crying while screaming, “Why!?” but those days have passed. If you get smacked once it hurts. Twice, it hurts twice as bad. But after a while, you become numb to it. After that, it doesn’t matter how many times you get hit, it doesn’t affect you anymore. So, in short, f**k her.

It wasn’t until today that I finally broke. today was Valentine’s day, and I had recently been talking to a boy in my class. I thought we were getting along well, so I decided to ask him if he wanted to do something for Valentine’s day. His reply was worse than any other rejection. He just stood there and laughed. He laughed like he was at a George Carlin Stand up routine. Even though there were still quite a few classes left in school that day, I ran home. F**k this. F**k them. F**k them ALL!

While at home, I looked at myself in the mirror, for an hour I stared a something that looked so foreign to me. My face began to churn my insides. In a fit of rage I punched the mirror, cracking it. Why is this face mine? Why am I so ugly? Why me? Why me? Why me!? Jules has such a pretty face, all of the other girls have such pretty faces, yet such ugly hearts. They don’t deserve such pretty faces. If only I had their faces I could be happy! At that moment, my eyes snapped open, and a smile stretched across my cheeks. I have figured it out. I figured out how I could become happy. 

So, I ran to the kitchen, opened a drawer and pulled out a serrated knife used to cut large chunks of beef, and headed out of the door. As I stepped out of the door, I gently slipped the knife into my purse. It was time to go back to school.

At school, I was looking around trying to find someone. The tricky part was to do so without them noticing, nor while drawing any suspicion. I searched around for what felt like hours, but was surely no more than 20 minutes. Then I found her, I found Jules. She was walking from one class to the next. I pulled the knife from my purse, and started to walk over to her. I caught up to her and grabbed her by her arm. She turned around and her eyes widened with fear as she saw the knife, her body began to tremble. It was such a wonderful expression. 

“Its so good to see you again Jules. I just wanted to say, that you have such a pretty face. Can I have it?” I pushed her to the ground after asking her. 

She hit the ground, and I put my knees on top of her arms, keeping her from trying to pry herself loose. I pulled the tip of the knife up to the edge of her face, just below her right earlobe, and put enough pressure to draw blood, and then continued down the curves of her face, on the edge of her chin and back up to the other ear. I continued cutting in front of her ear, along her hairline and met back down beneath the right ear where I started. Her screams were deafening. I knew I needed to hurry. I was sure someone went to get help, so I had to speed up. I began to peel her skin back quickly, but carefully enough not to damage the skin, using the knife when the skin needed extra help to detach from the muscle. She began convulsing, making my job that much more difficult. How selfish of her. I moved my right leg to her neck, hoping to hold her down so her head didn’t shake so much, and it worked like a charm. As I finished cutting the last couple chunks of muscle from the face, Jules’ body stopped shaking. 

I looked at my work, my salvation in my hands. I held it, skin in my hands, muscle facing up. I slowly lifted to flabby skin up to my head, and gently massaged it onto my face, covering up the hideousness. Finally, I had a face that reflected my inner beauty. not the one that was the cause of such turmoil for the past decade. 

People began to gather, and I looked up to them, smiled and said, “I’m finally pretty now.” But, something is wrong. Everyone is screaming. Why? My face isn’t hideous anymore, My scarred, burned face is gone. Why is everyone running? 

I noticed security guards running towards me. Something inside me made me run. I didn’t know why, but I felt guilty for something. Everything that happened was telling me to feel guilty about something, and I was, but I couldn’t place why.

I slowly made my way home, doing everything I could to avoid people, and especially the police. I somehow made it back, opened the door and ran up to my room and the cracked mirror. I needed to see for my self how beautiful I was now. I couldn’t wait. 

I pushed open the door, and turned the corner and saw myself in the mirror. The face lay on top of mine. It did not fit well. Blood could be seen beneath the face. It seeped into my hair, and dripped down my neck and onto my ears. Blood flowed from the holes that used to be where her eyes were, making it look like she was crying blood. The person I saw in front of me... was a monster. A true monster. Not like the one I saw years ago with a scarred face, but a monster that has lost sight of her humanity.

And this puts me where I am now, in my room with only one option left. It seems like it’ll happen a bit sooner than expected. The police are making their way in my house now. They’ll be in my room in seconds. Well, that’s it. I guess I’ll end this like most other letters:

Please tell mom and dad this isn’t their fault.