In the still of the inky-black night, I sat alone on the low-hanging rooftop, smoking a cigarette. The only light source came from a small, hand-held candle, the deep amber flame illuminating the dark stone roof tiling. As the flame licked back and forth, I stared out into the night. The verdant landscape beneath me swayed in the wind, giving the emerald, green grass a lifelike appearance. Beautiful, deep auburn leaves fluttered across the grass, creating a rustling sound as they blew with the wind. The wind grew, and the flame of my candle extinguished. The burning smell filled the air, creeping its way into my lungs.
My name was Edith Camonte, and I was born with a curse. You see, I have always looked quite different from other people. Ever since the day I was born, my face has been horribly disfigured. Deep, red gashes ran across my face, piercing their way into my skin, dragging into my flesh. My nose was seemingly bent and twisted, mutated into a bulbous mess of flesh. My eyes were cold and lifeless, squinting at anyone who dared look into my deep black pupils. In a world obsessed with beauty, stricken by vanity, full of judgemental people, I hated myself. I avoided looking in the mirror. I avoided going out in public, fearing that someone would see my face. When I did have to go out, children screamed when they saw me. Adults shot glances of pity at my parents, who stared back ashamedly. This was a world that was not made for people who looked like me.
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I grew up feeling helpless. Although they would never admit it, my parents were embarrassed of me. I could tell by the look in their eyes whenever I dared look at them. I could tell by their body language, always facing away from me, keeping their distance, as if I had some sort of disease. All of this caused me to become a very shy person. I rarely interacted with anyone, and if I did, I was very reclusive. I kept to myself a lot. As soon as I could, I moved out. I bought myself a house, in the countryside, away from society. I worked from home, and subsequently became even more of a recluse than I already was. Little did I know that soon my entire life would change. For better or for worse, though, I am not sure.
It all started on a Saturday morning. I sighed, preparing myself for another day of misery. I got up, and made my way downstairs, wanting to check the post for today. I slid the postbox open, revealing a colourful poster. It was a large poster, with printing that read ‘Have you dreamed of being a model? Sign up now or come visit Victor’s Modelling Show!’ The poster had a large picture of a man on it, staring into my soul with his large beady eyes. I turned to throw the poster in the bin. But something on the poster caught my eye. It was more writing, reading ‘Don’t feel beautiful enough? We can fix that for you!’ with a simple address printed underneath it. The man printed on the cover glared back at me. His eyes filled me with hope, somehow. I stopped for a moment, then rolled my eyes.
Matt Williams: Take a deep breath and see how Sam Prendergast copes with big Fiji test
New Irish citizens: ‘I hear the racist and xenophobic slurs on the streets. Everything is blamed on immigrants’
Jack Reynor: ‘We were in two minds between eloping or going the whole hog but we got married in Wicklow with about 220 people’
‘I could have gone to California. At this rate, I probably would have raised about half a billion dollars’
Sighing at myself, I placed the poster down on the table, not having the heart to throw it away yet. Something about the hope it gave me felt so real. Something about the man’s picture on the poster had convinced me. Gritting my teeth, I looked at the address on the poster again. It specified to come to this address at 10pm at night. It seemed scarily late; however, I was grateful for this. I decided to drive over there for 10pm. Despite myself, I felt a twinge of excitement.
It was set up in a large tent-like building. Inside the tent, lights and music blared. In the centre of the tent, there was a large, ruby red stage. Everyone around me seemed lost in themselves, not noticing me. When the models began to strut out on to the stage, one by one, I felt encased in the beauty. The strobe lights flashed as I watched. The clicks of photographs could faintly be heard above the music. The outfits the models wore all corresponded to a very glamorous theme, wearing bright, glittering dresses and fur coats. After about an hour, the event ended, much to my disappointment.
I was walking back to my car when he approached me. “Hello!” and when I looked back up at him, he exclaimed, “Oh, my!” in surprise. I felt hot tears stinging my cheeks and attempted to push past him. “Wait!” he said. “Ever wanted to fix that face of yours?”
I stopped. I was intrigued, to say the least. I stared at him for a moment, unsure of how to respond. “Not much of a talker? That’s all right. My name is Victor, and I host this modelling event. Come with me.”
I turned to follow him as soon as he began to walk away. Something about him was so captivating, it made me want to trust him. As I followed him, he brought me further into the tent, past the stage, and into a backroom filled with models. Despite their beauty, they all appeared tired and gloomy. Some of them attempted to make eye contact with me, staring at me sullenly. Their tired eyes on me felt like a warning.
Victor began to speak. “You want to fix your face, don’t you? You want to look like these other models?”
I stared at him for a moment. Was this man crazy? How did he know me so accurately? Gritting my teeth, I answered him.
“How do you know all this? Who even really are you?”
“I knew it. Brilliant. Close the door for me, would you?”
I closed the door and turned back to him.
“Do you want to look prettier? Well, I have something that can help you feel whole. There’s just one, simple catch.”
“What’s the catch?” I asked him, preparing for the worst.
“Well, there are some ... nightmares, that come with this. They aren’t THAT bad; some of the models like to exaggerate them. But you will have nightmares.”
“Is that it?” I replied. Nightmares had never bothered me much. “Count me in, then. I want to do it.”
“I knew you were perfect for this. Close your eyes.”
And then everything went dark. I don’t remember much after that. I don’t even remember driving home. I didn’t look at myself when I went home. I went straight to bed, tired after the most active day I had had in a long time. Closing my eyes, I drifted off to sleep.
My eyes opened. I was at the doctor’s office. I was strapped to a large chair. A large, old man with a wrinkled face stared down at me. His eyes were bloodshot, veins protruding from them. I began to tremble. “Who are you? I don’t need the doctor right now, thank you,” I said, in an attempt to be let free. In a swift move, he took out a scalpel and stabbed it clean into my eye, twisting it around. I screamed and screamed. I felt the cold metal piercing into my eye, squishing it around. And I couldn’t take it any longer.
Suddenly, I shot up. Panting, my hand went immediately to my eye. My heart was racing. It was the scariest nightmare I had ever had. Still reeling, I got up to get some water. As I walked past the hallway, I stopped in front of the mirror. My face had been repaired. I was beautiful, perfect, even. If this was the price to pay for looking this beautiful, I could sure live with it.
After that, I began to be a lot more sociable. I had friends. I quit my job to become a model, modelling for Victor’s runway. Everything was wonderful. And my face was wonderful. There was one thing, though. The nightmares began to get worse. All of my deepest fears awoke in the nightmares, each one becoming more torturous.
I began taking sleeping pills, trying anything to get rid of them. But it was all useless.
My next resort was simple; ask Victor to revert the curse. It was my final shot at stopping the vivid nightmares. All I had to do now was find him. My mind went to the last place I had seen him; the backroom of the modelling agency.
I tentatively approached the backroom. I could not take it any more. I was going to ask him to revert this curse. I walked in a daze, my mind filled with nothing but fear. I was afraid that Victor would say no, and I was afraid of what was going to happen if he did say no. As I further approached, I saw him, sitting there. Adrenaline filled my veins.
“Victor. I want you to revert it,” I spoke, with my words full of hatred.
He stared back at me. “And who are you?” he replied, sounding confused.
“You know who I am, and I want you to revert the curse. I can’t sleep any more. I don’t care about being famous.”
“Listen lady, don’t make me call security. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
All my hope had gone out the window. There was clearly no coming back from this. I felt like I was going crazy. As I stood in the doorway, illuminated by the moonlight behind me, Victor picked up his phone, seemingly to call security. That was when I lost it.
I lunged at him, adrenaline seething through me. I went for his neck, gripping my hands around it, trying to suffocate him. He tried to scream, but it could not be heard. His hands flailed around, desperate to stop me, but to no avail. I stabbed at the veins on his neck, his face beginning to turn purple from the lack of oxygen. I breathed heavily. My heart was racing. Giving it all my strength, I twisted his neck. The deafening crack of his neck could be heard. Then, nothing but silence.
I fell backwards. For a moment, I sat there, next to his corpse. I did not cry, though. I stared off into the distance. Sirens blared in the background, ringing in my ears. For the first time in a very long time, I felt peace. My head was clear. A large mirror opposed me. Looking back at me, I saw my old face again. Scarred, twisted and gruesome. But more at peace than I had ever felt.
