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NINTEEN SEVENTY-NINE
Author
Mirrors.
Michael hated mirrors. He would do his best to avoid mirrors, going far as keeping his eyes down as he brushed his teeth or washed his hands. He hated mirrors so much and felt as if they hated him back.
In Michael's opinion, mirrors mocked him by pointing out flaws he couldn't change, like his skin disease.
Every time he looked inside of a mirror, he was reminded of that. He was reminded of something he hated every single day. That was torture for him.
That was hell. Today was hell.
It was hell for him because he looked inside of a mirror and saw something that brought tears to his eyes.
Another patch. A white circle about the size of mandarin orange on the left side of his neck. Imagine waking up every morning with a new tattoo that you didn't want and considered ugly or unappealing. That's how Michael felt every day. He hated that feeling.
Michael's disease was getting worse. He was becoming more paranoid now. It was easy for him to cover up his body with clothing, but now it seemed as if the disease was about to spread to his face. He couldn't do a thing about that. "Fuck..." Michael whispered to himself as he looked inside the wooden Kavana mirror. His head was turned towards the far right as he analyzed the white patch with a look of disgust.
He traced his fingers over the patch, wishing that he had some sort of magic power to make his vitiligo go away. "Fuck.." He said again. "FUCK!" He yelled before knocking everything off the sink in one swipe.
Michael was so tired of crying about his skin disease. He had it for so long and would always tell himself just to get used to it. That would work, up until a new patch appeared—then he was right back to square one.
"Michael, let's go. I'm hungry!" Ricky yelled from outside of the door, unaware that Michael was on the verge of having a mental breakdown.
"Just give me a second!" Michael yelled back as he stared at his reflection. The urge to punch the mirror into a million pieces became very tempting to do.
—
"And what would you like, sweetie pie?"A waitress kindly asked Ricky as he was the last to place his order. He was a very indecisive individual, so he let everyone place their order before him.
"I would like the breakfast platter with my eggs scrambled." He politely smiled at the waitress.
She jotted down his order before asking him what he wanted to drink. "Orange juice, please."
