It was morning. I could tell by the harsh tone of light that filtered through my white bedroom curtains. My eyes burned yet my vision was clear, which meant I’d slept with my contacts in. I was awake. This I knew for sure because of the agonizing pain crushing my head in a vice grip, sending shots of acidic fire all the way down into my stomach and throughout my rubbery limbs.
Confusion. Waking up in an excruciating state of hurt and discomfort wasn’t unusual, but this was different. Robust. Concentrated. My face… why did my face feel like it been hammered? Gingerly, I allowed my hand to make its way to the place between my eyes and I felt something crusty and sticky. The landscape of my face was unfamiliar terrain, not the usual peaks and valleys of the face I’d been wearing for the past thirty-five years.
Panic ran like ice crackling through my veins. I sat up and and the pain amplified, sharp and searing. I looked down and saw blood. Blood on my shirt, and on my sheets. Blood on my h…
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