Grotesque | Elyse Georgeson

I saw her in a store. I admit it, when I saw her, I couldn’t stop gawking. It was rude, I know. I couldn’t help myself. But there was something about her face that looked so odd, I couldn’t figure out what it was. Somehow through a bit of maneuvering, I managed to get close enough to take a better look. I tried to look without her noticing what I was doing, but I don’t think I managed it. She seemed to have a heightened sensitivity to people watching her. Her face was swollen, almost past recognition. She could see, but just barely. The swollen skin had large pustules scattered around as well. Her lips looked like they were made up entirely of cold sores, looking as if any twitch would make them crack and bleed. It looked so painful, and humiliating.

I finally went on my way. Call it youthful vanity, but I kept wondering how she could endure going out in public like that, knowing that wherever she went she was the target of stares and whispers. But life goes on, and there’s nothing any of us can do about it. I do hope that whatever it was that caused her face to look like that went away, and she could finally do her shopping in peace.