I awoke this morning with an enormous spot on my cheek, it is
huge and red. I daub it with hot water and tea tree oil in the hope it may go
before the party this evening. I am loath to go out in public with such a
blemish upon my face.
At lunchtime, despite the salad I have made, I find myself
compelled to eat chocolate truffle cake smothered with cream. I feel as if I am
feeding the blemish, which has grown in the hours since I awoke. It now covers
my cheek and shines a brighter red than this morning, I feel it has still not
yet reached the stage that could be called angry, rather it seems benign, happy
to grow upon my visage.
At teatime I forsake the fresh pasta I have made for yet
more cake and cream, It seems the pustule and I are developing an intimate
relationship, I check on its growth regularly, as if it were a small child in
need of protection. It has spread across my nose to my other cheek.
Preparing to go out I look in the mirror and see a shiny
crimson creature with my eyes and my teeth. The spot which was so much smaller this
morning covers my countenance.
The assimilation is complete. She has become the tiny pimple
on my face, she appears angry. I dress
in my hosts clothes and make-up my hosts face. I am ready to go to the party.
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