The Healing

"Etherized upon a table"

Standing infront of the mirror today, I noticed something. I could not see the 19 year old boy anywhere. I was puzzled. This was the place I saw him every day, for last 3 years. But he was not here today. Instead, there was somebody else starring back at me through the reflection. An older man, whose face was devoid of all the innocence, and whose face was stern as a rock. He had this mark on his forehead; a mark left from some wound. The wound had already healed a long while ago, but it sure left its memory engraved on the forehead; for the pain to be felt a new with every glance on the deformation.
There was something strange about it. I felt that the mark was alive; it appeared to harbor life. I moved closer to the mirror and started examining to wound closely. My heartbeat grew faster as I realized that there is something inside the mark. I realized the 19 year old boy was trapped in the wound and he was trying very hard to get out. All in vain, as the strong walls of the mark, would not let him. The mark had hardened over the years. At first it was just blood clotting along the edges which prevented the bleeding, but it also stopped the blood to reach the center of the wound, which had caused the living skin to die, and finally to be replaced by pigmentation of the skin. The mere process of healing had hardened the mark overtime, and now the boy was trapped into it.
I am not sure if I felt any pity for the boy or happiness for the man. I just stood there stout, looking at all this happening in an instance of a time. I tried to hear the screams of the boy, I sure could see him yell, but I couldn’t hear anything. I lowered my eyes to the level of the man’s eyes. In a questioning gesture I looked into his eyes, “Why can’t I hear him scream?” He didn’t answer. I noticed a subtle change in his eye color, as if they didn’t want to answer; as if they wanted to pretend they do not know what I was talking about. Eyes scrutinized eyes; the eyes yelled, and the eyes cried; eyes asked for a reason and the eyes looked at the society; eyes pleaded for mercy and the eyes broke into laughter; finally the eyes retreated in despair.
I lowered my eyes; this was a war against time and the society that I could never win. I glanced at the wound for one last time, hoping to see the boy for an apology. I saw him being devoured by the mark; suddenly, he was not crying and his face was happy as if he was anesthetic. He was being healed.
I put my tooth brush back into the wall cabinet behind the mirror and moved away. I had forgotten the boy.