Beautiful Ugly

Claire Greyson has been scarred for life after a house fire. One side of her face has third degree burns. That will not heal. After she is proved right that nobody will ever treat her the same ever again after she is turned down for her school production, she is pushed over the edge. And wakes up in hospital after overdosing on pills.
She is convinced that one one will ever be able to see past her ugly scars.

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3. The decision

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, trying to summon up a grin, but it's impossible. My heart is thumping like a drum in my chest, and there are butterflies in my stomach. This is it. That slip of paper taped on the drama room door will either mean I still have a slither of hope, or it will be a confirmation of my failure. I try to move, but my feet are stuck to the polished floor of the girls toilets. I can hear the excited squeals of girls just outside. Have they seen the cast list? Are they happy because they've seen that they've got the part they want? Just for a second, my heart fills with sadness as I realise I'll never be like those girls now. I'll never be able to look in the mirror and think to myself: 'I don't look half bad actually!' Never be able to go to my prom with Lucy and Vicky feeling confident in my deep emerald green dress. Feel the excitement and happiness of getting ready for a date and feeling satistfied with the finished result, after hours spent picking the right dress and carefully making up my face. Never step into a nightclub on my first night out with my friends feeling on top of the world. Feel comfortable in my own body. What will people see when they look at me now? Well I knew what they'd see.A monster.

How can I make people see that I'm just like them under all these scars? People think that just because you look different, you're different inside too. There was a girl who was in a wheelchair on my street, she was about the same age as me, I think. Every time I went out I'd pass by her. I never knew what to say to her, it just felt so awkward looking down at her. I'd always smile and say hello, but I never dared really get to know her better, scared I might accidentally offend her. I thought maybe she'd been in some accident or some illness, and now was scarred, and would be sad, so would drag me down with her. I know it sounds mean, but I just couldn't bring myself to. With a pang I realise this is how people must feel toward me now. I'd have millions of pitying looks, polite smiles, as well as the snide comments and disgusted stares, but I didn't want to be a fascinating exhibit everywhere I went. I wanted to blend in. I hadn't even been able to bring myself to go out, going to school yesterday was the first time I'd gone outside since coming home.

Go on. See for yourself. Go and show everyone that you are just like them. Go and see if you got that part. I walk out of the bathroom, holding my head up high. There on the drama room door is the cast list. I skim through all the boring parts until I get to the very bottom.

Bugsy... Fred Mahone

Blousey.... Bella Halliwell

Talullah.... Vicky Ashton

Vicky. I didn't get the part. Vicky did. I didn't even know Vicky had auditioned. I felt like I couldn't breathe. That part that meant so much to me. Vicky didn't even really like drama that much. Crap, she wasn't even that good. She'd always tried out every audition sure, but she always treated it as if it were just for fun. She hadn't got any parts before. This was her first. That part which was my one lifeline.

I could hardly breathe, my heart shattered into a million pieces. Who the hell was I kidding when I thought I would get it? This was my life now, I might as well get used to it. I was destined to be the freak who would never get a chance. Nobody would ever see me as the same as them, I'd never have anyone bother to look past the skin and bother getting to know me. I would finish secondary school, and me Lucy and Vicky would drift apart. I would go to college, and people would stare at my face. They'd keep away from me. I'd be alone. Then I'd get some rubbish job where I wouldn't have to face people. No primary school teacher, I'd probably scare the poor kids to death. No working at the tills, no customers would want to go to a shop and have to face a monster like me everytime they had to get a pint of milk. No chance of being an actress, not unless I was playing a girl with a scarred face, and how likely is that?

I saw my life mapped out: no fun. No uncertainty. No adventures. No friends. No boyfriend. No job that I liked doing. No hopes. No dreams.

No point.

I ran home, tears brimming. I had to get home, I had to go to my room, and just escape. I couldn't cope with it, I couldn't cope with the honest truth staring me in the face.

I stumble down the street, a mess with mascara running down my cheeks, my hair tangled and frizzy and my face, oh my face. Car horns blare as I dodge in and out of the busy morning traffic. I couldn't really see where I was going, I couldn't see if there was a car coming. Maybe I didn't care. Maybe I will get killed and that will be it. By some miracle, I manage to get home without being squashed by a lorry. I stagger through the front door, bawling my eyes out. The house is empty.

Every hope that my life could still be salvaged now vanished before me, as sure as anything. It wasn't fair. No matter how hard I tried, The truth wasI was cut off from the rest of the world. I turn on the tap and a fierce blast of water streams out. I stick my arms under it and the ice cold water smashes against my skin, like a thousand tiny knives and it hurts a lot. I don't take my arms out of the water though. I keep it there, going against my instinct. It's as if I'm against myself. I'm not gonna let my instinct win. It's screaming at me to get my arm out of the water, but I have to keep it there, I have to bear it, if only I can hold it for just a few seconds longer, it might sharpen things up and I'll wake up from this hazy dream.

No. I collapse on the floor. I'm exhausted. I'm exhausted of trying, of hoping, of dreaming, of fighting. I'm tired. I'm so very tired. Every day is a constant battle and I'm losing. I need to end this, I don't want to play this game anymore.

I remember the box of pills mum keeps in the cupboard from when nan had cancer, the strong ones. I take it out, my hands shaking, and pop out a pill. I grab a glass and fill it with the already blasting tap. The sink is overflowing, and water is sliding down on the floor, but I don't care. I take the glass and raise it to my lips. I swallow one pill. Then another. Then another and another and another until I've polished off the whole packet.

I lower myself onto the wet kitchen floor and wait for it to kick in. Eventually I fall into unconsciousness.

 

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