hellfire

By akrit Agarwal

You may think that it’s just pain, and you can fix it all with a couple thousand dollars. Hell, you don’t know the half of it.

Ever been burnt on your hands or feet? Stings real bad, doesn’t it? Now take that, that pain, and imagine it all over your face, in your grey eyes – where even shampoo can cause so much hurt that you end up crying – and your once-full lips and your dainty little nose, a face with an achingly beautiful smile that’s all been melted into a cratered, twisted visage. Loss hurts horribly, more than anything in the world when it’s permanent.

It’s just loss, you think? Couldn’t be further from the truth, in fact. Imagine this: you’re walking down the streets around your house, talking to a friend, and a family with three kids walk by. Sounds like a normal occurrence, doesn’t it? It’s happened to all of us before. 

Now take that cratered, twisted visage of yours and add it to the mix. Those three kids that were giggling and throwing grass at each other stop where they stand. The youngest one – a toddler, looks about four – backs away as you approach, and starts screaming “MONSTER! MONSTER! Mom! It’s a monster!”

Each word hits you in the stomach, delivering a stunning blow to your psyche, but it only gets worse. The other kids retreat as well, a sickening fear in their eyes, as they run and hide behind the family van. Meanwhile, the mother turns, and for a brief moment before she composes herself, there’s a glimpse of absolute and utter disgust in her eyes. Eye contact is minimal, and you end up crossing the street just to avoid any more humiliation.

That’s not all, though, and that pain pales before what is to come. You go home and head upstairs to where your husband is putting your toddler to bed. It’s a beautiful sight to see – your man tucking a spaceship-emblazoned blanket over your son as he caresses his tiny forehead. You can hear everything they say, and that’s something you’re grateful for. This is a moment you’ll forever remember, but for the wrong reasons.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, T-Rex?”

“Promise me that you won’t tell anyone this secret.”

“I promise, buddy. You can tell me anything.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

“Mom, um, mom’s face… it scares me.”

“Oh, T-Rex, don’t be scared. It’s not her fault, or yours, and she’s been through so much. She’s still your mom. Look past her flaws, look at what she’s done for you.”

“But I get so scared when she looks at me. She looks like a horror movie villain.”

“I understand, and I sometimes feel the same. But she’s your mom and my wife, and the best in the world at both of those jobs. And you know, she’s scared of herself. I know I would be if I was her, and that’s why I need you to be brave. Like a T-Rex would be.”

“But even T-Rexes can be scared, right?”

“T-Rexes can be scared, buddy. Anything can be scared. But they can be brave too. Not everyone can be brave. Can you, the biggest and strongest T-Rex of them all, be brave for Mom?”

“I guess.”

“I love you, you know. And so does Mom.”

“I love you too!”

“Sweet dreams, buddy.”

“Good night, Dad.” 

Imagine that. Your own son finds you scary, and so does your husband. Guess what? It wasn’t even your damn choice to make, but you’re stuck with the repercussions till the day you die. Broken, you storm upstairs and lock yourself in the bathroom. You look in the mirror. You see a monster where there once was a fair, beautiful maiden that would catch the eye of any prince riding past in a horse-drawn carriage. 

The pain from overhearing that conversation hurts even more than permanent loss, and you relive it each day. What comes after it is a lesser pain but a more painful memory.

Imagine liquid fire sloshing out of a bucket, blanketing your delicate features and corroding through layers of skin and muscle. A few beads drip off onto the asphalt below, and before you fully register the pain of your face literally melting, they’ve burnt a hole about a centimeter across. You can’t feel anything but the fire, and it’s all-consuming. You slap at it, but that just burns your hands, and there’s a terrifying helplessness as you feel your life forever change for the worse.

Fast-forward to the shock of seeing the new you in a mirror for the first time. Familiarity and twenty-nine years of seeing the same person are stolen by someone who is quickly proclaimed insane and dumped into a comfortable retirement with free healthcare and unemployment benefits that you pay for. The justness of it all warms your heart and helps you sleep peacefully at night, it does. 

So you end up getting plastic surgery, because, after all, ‘you can fix it all with a couple thousand dollars,’ right? There’s one tiny thing you’re missing. Everything I’ve just described? That’s after surgery. Yep, even the son-scared-of-mom bit. 

Guess money doesn’t do much against hellfire.