Static

As Lena walked down the street, she could hardly see through the aftermath of that morning’s explosion. Up on the large screens, which she couldn’t discern through the smoke, she heard the president’s voice blaring, talking about how homelessness and cancer were on the rise, how they needed to be donating or sooner than later, everyone was going to be homeless, blah blah blah. She hardly paid attention anymore. There was always something new to replace the old; keeping track was getting too hard.

Next, there was the announcement of last night’s award winners, which she could vaguely hear. There was an award show every night, honoring entertainment that hardly any regular people were involved with. But those people on the screens were special and gorgeous. They needed to be constantly reminded.

Like them, she used to be beautiful, so she knew what it was like. She glanced at her reflection to the left of her. From here, her face looked normal, an above-average face with smooth skin and nice eyes, a straight nose, and big lips. The right side used to be the same. Some years ago—she couldn’t remember exactly when—she’d woken up to find the right side of her face melting off, and it had never gone back. It would randomly slip, sometimes in the middle of a conversation, so that was very inconvenient. The doctors didn’t know what had caused it. She suspected she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, encountered something radioactive. There was nothing they could do, they said. She should be grateful she still had one side of her face. So many people out there had it worse.

The smoke had cleared enough so she could see the path in front of her, and she spotted the office she worked in, which had been spared by the bombing. But as she passed the building in front of it, she noticed a poster on the door that piqued her interest.

NEW FACES HERE, read the white paper in big letters. FOR CHEAP!

Under that sign was another. LOOK LIKE THIS! There was a photo of a blond couple with pristine faces, smiling with big white teeth.

“You might need that, eh?” said a voice nearby. Lena jumped. Suddenly, a man appeared out of the smoke. Whatever had happened to her had happened to him, too, only on both sides of his face. The whole thing looked like the wax from a used candle. It was a horrific sight, though she couldn’t blame him. It was how she looked on one side.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, grinning. “Look who’s talking. But I can’t afford it. Can’t afford anything. Judging by your clothes, at least you have a job.” She hadn’t even noticed his dirty, ripped clothes until then.

Instead of being offended, she looked at herself through the glass doors.

“I might consider,” she said truthfully, “I might see what they have to offer.”

It wasn’t like she’d never thought about it before, but the whole process seemed like it would take years, and quite frankly, it was probably out of her budget. Her parents had left her a little money, but she knew it would only last so long before it ran out. Her current salary was for necessities only.

She looked down at her watch. She could be a few minutes late for work without repercussions. She’d just go in for a consultation; it would be quick.

But by the time she’d sat down in the lobby, she had already paid and scheduled the surgery for that day. A lamp in the corner flickered on and off.  

“Lena?” A nurse appeared in the doorway. Lena stood up and followed the woman down a dark hallway to a room in the very back.

“Take a seat.”

The woman had a regular face. It wasn’t the prettiest in the world; it had imperfections, a few pimples, a tiny scar, but they were all normal. Normal things. Not the kind that involved part of one’s face melting off. However, Lena did wonder if the doctor had operated on her before.

She felt herself fall back into a chair.

“So, you’re here for the facial transplant,” said the doctor who appeared before her. He wore a mask that covered most of his face.

“Facial transplant? I thought it was a simple procedure, a matter of pushing some of my face back up,” she replied.

“Well, no,” he said, frowning. “This is a severe case. Which will require a transplant.” He paused. “We’ll take a mold of your left side and match it to the other half. It should be quick. Might need to get some skin and bone off a cadaver or two. Then glue it all on. We can do it today.”

He kept talking, going further into the process, but she couldn’t hear. She felt the sudden urge to cry. She thought of the man outside, with both sides of his face dangling off. If she was a severe case, what did that make him?

“Will I look the same as before?” she heard herself ask, interrupting whatever he was saying, the words flying out of her mouth.

“Well, no, obviously you won’t look exactly how you used to.” He held up a photo of her that had to be at least ten years old. Her smile was wide and bright, just like the people from the advertisement outside. From back when her parents were still alive. Where had he gotten it?

“You were much younger then. Thinner. The surgery would probably make you look a whole lot better than now, though. I’m surprised you got a job like this,” he added.

She felt her mind drifting, drifting into black.

#

She was on the outside looking in. A flash of her old face, her old life, that same day from the photo. Sitting at the table with her parents on an ordinary day, glimpses of the morning sunlight pouring in. Laughing at something her father had said.

Her surroundings escaped her.

#

She awoke to nothingness. And then something. A hand holding up a mirror.

She was beautiful now. No, not as beautiful as the award winners on the screens, those who were celebrated every night. But with some makeup, she could get there. It was a start. She could make something of herself. Maybe even get a different job. She touched her face, caressing the softness of her pale yet perfectly rosy cheeks, which now matched perfectly.

The only noticeable imperfection was identical x’s on the sides of her face, where the doctor had made the incisions. But she could live with those if everything else was normal again. And maybe they would fade away over time.

She walked home in a daze, feeling lighter than a cloud.

Upon arriving, she noticed a piece of mail had been slid under the door. The bill. She would deal with that later.

She turned to the mirror she’d hung in the hallway, what felt like a long time ago now, preparing to admire her new face.

No. That couldn’t be right.

She clutched her face. It was back to the same as before, but even worse now, the new and the old combined, both hanging on for dear life.

She felt something slide onto the floor, and far away from her. She stopped for a moment, staring at the thick pile of beige sludge that had landed on the grey carpet. Normally, she’d pick it up, try to push it back on. But she just stared, frozen.

#

When she found the courage to call the doctor’s office, it was the next morning.

“What do you mean when can you get it fixed? This has never happened before. The doctor has a 100% success rate. What did you do?” the girl at the front desk asked, disgusted.

“I didn’t do anything,” Lena cried. “I just got home and looked in the mirror.” There was silence on the other line. Static. “When can I come in?”

“Our earliest appointment is a year from today. We’re all booked up. I’ll put you on the list.”

Lena sighed, looking once more at the pile of sludge she’d left on the ground. She picked up the old and new faces, piece by piece, and glued them on as best she could. And then she went to work.