Like any other day, I woke up to the alarm, as if a machine set for production had turned on. I followed the meticulous steps to get ready and go about the same routine as every day, but in the midst of my well-oiled process, I was stopped by my reflection in the mirror right after my shower. I noticed a spot, a dull blue, almost Smurf-like, next to my left eye.
I touched the area gently, not recalling any injury, and there was no pain to the touch. «So, it’s not a bruise,» I muttered to myself. Almost instinctively, I glanced at the clock. I was running late—nothing a little extra makeup couldn’t fix.
The day passed with a heavy normalcy. By nightfall, I noticed no change in the mark I had detected earlier. «A good night’s sleep should take care of it,» I thought, and the next day, as if caught in a looped video clip, everything repeated, but this time with a surprise: the blue spot had changed. It had spread, trailing down my face. Terrified, I let out a stifled gasp, but once again, instinct directed my gaze to the clock. A thicker layer of makeup finally covered the spot.
By lunchtime, it had begun to branch out across my neck. Panic gripped me, but I couldn’t let anyone see it. I would resolve it that night—I couldn’t live with it. Once more, I reached into my bag, and with whatever I had on hand, I covered the problem, stepping out again with a smile, as if nothing had happened. Although a bit frightened, I knew I could solve it somehow.
And so the day went: work, finding something for dinner, more work, getting things ready. «What was I forgetting? Oh yes, it’s late, I have to make that call tomorrow, the house, the bills, shopping… Should I eat better? Smile more? Go out more? Or meet someone?» The overwhelming flood of thoughts running through my head made me forget about that spot. By the time I tried to focus on myself, on that problem, it was already too late. I stopped by a pharmacy, intending to ask the attendant, but I felt too ashamed. «It’s nothing,» I kept repeating to myself. I grabbed the usual ointment, bought some more makeup, and left.
The day’s lethargy dragged me to bed. Exhausted, I pushed that worry aside with the rest and fell asleep.
I woke up before the alarm went off. I wasn’t used to waking up to silence. Heavy, I dragged myself to the bathroom and was horrified to see in the mirror that the blue was now all over my body. It was hard to keep my eyes open; I knew the routine—alarm, shower, get ready, and go—but for some reason, the blue stain had seeped into the very gravity of that bathroom.
Terrified, I curled up on the floor in the fetal position, submerged in that blue that surrounded me. Without strength, alone, I couldn’t bear to look at myself, wondering what I was going to do, who would help me, how I would change this color—I didn’t have enough makeup today; I simply couldn’t cover it.
Defeated, and in an act of desperation, I reached for my phone:
“Hello, yes, it’s me.”
“No, I’m not okay, I need help… I’m blue…”
Mixpov 