MicroHorror

In the dark, Annabelle Dubrois felt along the bathroom wall. Her trembling hand switched on the overhead fluorescent bulb. It showered harsh candescence onto her head. She gazed in the mirror at her splotchy countenance and cursed her thinning hair and mousy mouth. Bruised shadows pooled beneath her eyes, hurt by what they witnessed. She had never been beautiful and with each passing year she became less attractive and more invisible to men.

“No wonder no one wants me; I’m hideous.” She smiled a fake camera-cheese-grin and examined her yellow teeth, grabbed the toothbrush and squeezed minty-blue paste onto its bristles then scoured her teeth until her gums bled. She spat into the basin and watched liquid, crimson flowers bloom and swirl in a ballet down the drain.

Her pet lab, Beaux, nuzzled her bare calf. She kicked him away without a glance. “Leave me alone, Beaux, get.” She heard him whine as he retreated to the hall and sat as if waiting his turn for the ladies’. She looked down at him. “I’m sorry, boy. Mama’s just upset.” She went to him and crouched down, nose to nose. “You’re a good boy.” She stroked his head with one hand and wiped her tears away with the other. He lifted his snout and licked her cheek. “If you didn’t love me, I wouldn’t know love at all.” She buried her face in his furry neck and wept.

Prozac had not managed to roust her out of this depression. She’d been taking it for two months and didn’t feel any better. None of the antidepressants worked. They were ploys for pharmaceutical companies to make money off people who were in a desperate state of mind. The only effective drug the doctor prescribed was a sleeping pill, Ambien. Annabelle relied on those pills to lure her mind away from self-hatred and lull it to sleep. She enjoyed sleeping. She wished she could sleep forever. It hit her. Mabye I should sleep forever.

With renewed energy in her step, she scurried to the bathroom medicine cabinet and retrieved the Ambien. Beaux trailed after her and whimpered by her feet. She dumped the entire bottle of candy narcotics into her palm and counted. There were eleven pills. That should be enough. She slapped all eleven to the back of her throat and filled a glass with water, gulped them down, then turned her head and said, “Ahhh, it’s done.”

She sat on the bathroom rug and leaned against the tub. Beaux curled up beside her and rested his head in her lap. She petted him gently until she fell asleep.

A slurping tongue lapped her cheek. She heard Beaux whimpering loudly in her ear. He pawed her mouth and barked. She couldn’t respond. He dug his nails into her skin and ripped her lower lip. She tasted blood and felt the hot fingers of pain pinch her lip. Beaux licked the blood from her mouth and growled. His licks were followed by teeth, biting into the pulpy flesh of her pout. She was paralyzed. She wanted to scream out as Beaux’s canine incisors tore pink, living tissue away. She heard him smack and swallow as he devoured her silent lips. When will I die? I should be dead already!

His drooling hunger moved to her nose. The stench of his dog-breath filled her lungs as he gnawed the tip of her nose. She didn’t know why he was attacking her face. She thought maybe he knew how much it had offended her. Dogs were sensitive and perceptive. Her cheek burst into flames of excruciating pain and then her mind went blank.

Annabelle awoke in the hospital with bandages covering her wounds. Doctors gathered around her bed and discussed her options for a face transplant. They said she would be the first person to undergo such a procedure. In her mind, she thanked Beaux as she watched her hand sign the surgery permission forms.