I stared at the pills I had just created, which were supposed to give one “eternal youth.” Though I had no one to impress, I knew the only thing I could do was to test them on myself. Maybe then, I’d feel less lonely. If they hadn’t worked, ruining my looks in the process, I would keep working until I found a real way to create those pills that would grant eternal youth. After all, no one looked at me. So, no one would notice how I looked.
I forced myself to stop overthinking and popped one in my mouth. At first, nothing happened. I brushed it off and waited for a few hours, then fell asleep. Though these pills didn’t seem to work at first, when I woke up and looked in the mirror, the person staring back was not me. It was a beautiful woman—someone I thought I’d never be able to become again. A younger me. But here I was, stupidly staring at my reflection, wondering if it was a dream or not. I touched the mirror’s surface. It felt very real. My skin looked too delicate to pinch, as if made of porcelain, ready to break if one wasn’t gentle enough with it. If it hadn’t, I would have been pinching myself endlessly to see if it was a dream or not. But then there’d be no point, so who cared? I had achieved the key to real beauty.
Did it help me feel less lonely? I guess. My skin was plump and full of life, my hair was pretty and flowed like a river, my face looked as perfect as a rare gem found by the perfect person. What else could I ask for? I smiled at myself. Unironically, it looked perfect. I immediately got dressed and requested an interview with a well-known beauty company. It wasn’t going to be just me from this moment on. Not ever again.
Unsurprisingly, I got accepted. A time machine was always expected to be something that required mechanics. But here I was, reversing time with a single pill. This achievement of mine quickly hit the news. People went crazy trying to buy it, and I turned these pills into moisturizing creams, becoming the top “beauty standard” all over the world. I also discovered something. This time-reversing cream hadn’t only been making us younger. It was also making us look like the person we desired to be. I never remembered myself being this beautiful. But who was I to complain?
That’s what I was thinking while preparing myself a salad, briefly cutting my finger in the process. Despite it not hurting, the cut looked too deep. Too deep. I was confused. I quickly used one of my other fingers and pressed it on my face, briefly moving it around. When I let go, a whole layer of dead skin came off. I pinched myself. And I saw something I never should have seen. Pieces of my flesh came off like a mask, revealing my old skin, scrunched up beneath the effect of the pills. I ran to the bathroom in a panic. In a second, I saw my old self staring back in the mirror. I didn’t get it. The look I desired was lying on the floor like a skin suit now. Maybe it was one.
I stared at the mirror again, and this time, an uglier version of me stared back. The mirror was broken, almost as if she was angry at me for denying my own skin and creating myself a new one. I collapsed on the floor, and everything went dark.
I woke up in the hospital. At least I looked pretty again. Like I used to. Apparently, I had a panic attack and experienced some vivid hallucinations. I wanted to believe they were just hallucinations, but my gut was telling me not to. So I closed my eyes to rest, trying to clear my mind. Instead of accepting my own skin, creating a new, perfected version of myself had been harsh. And I learned that what makes us ugly isn’t our looks but denying ourselves and trying to escape from who we are.
After all, you don’t get to deny yourself. Nor do you get to move on.
You learn to live with it.
So did I.