# A thousand other ways to be selfish
I looked over my shoulder and saw the monster. My indifference troubled me. He saw me see him; Why was he making this scarry face now? I couldn't care less about him; I was busy patching non-existent wounds all over my body. The bits of silver duct tape scattered across my skin gave me this comforting feeling of safety. It was my new drug. I will be ok soon, just one more patch here and another one there. I slowly turned around while tearing up, with my teeth, another strip from the duct tape roll.
The monster was still there, looking a little haggard. He fixed me with his black eyes, his mouth wide open as if he was about to scream. Yellow teeth, bloody gums, and cracked lips... but nothing came out, just a foul smell of death. The skin on his neck and face was somewhat translucent, and I could see a maze of bluish veins raising to his temples and fading across his bold scalp. Poor creature, condemned to everlasting life..., I thought, while placing this last patch under my right eye. I hope he dies one day, but I didn't really care about his suffering because I had mine.
Ahhh, this patch feels so good; I'm gonna do another one on the other side. I got up from the bathroom floor, where I was doing this ritual every Sunday, and walked in front of the mirror. Who is this guy? A young face of a 30-something years old, looking back at me with large eyes, raised eyebrows, and a crooked smile. I smiled too because I knew what was coming next: the pealing. I pinched the corner of the silver strip and pulled it off violently. And then peeled off the one on the other cheek. Large tears rolling over the sore skin of my cheeks left a burning sensation. I loved it and kept on peeling them all one after another. The pain felt refreshing.
I looked again over my shoulder and saw my monster crying.
- Why do you cry?
I looked over my shoulder and saw the monster. My indifference troubled me. He saw me see him; Why was he making this scarry face now? I couldn't care less about him; I was busy patching non-existent wounds all over my body. The bits of silver duct tape scattered across my skin gave me this comforting feeling of safety. It was my new drug. I will be ok soon, just one more patch here and another one there. I slowly turned around while tearing up, with my teeth, another strip from the duct tape roll.
The monster was still there, looking a little haggard. He fixed me with his black eyes, his mouth wide open as if he was about to scream. Yellow teeth, bloody gums, and cracked lips... but nothing came out, just a foul smell of death. The skin on his neck and face was somewhat translucent, and I could see a maze of bluish veins raising to his temples and fading across his bold scalp. Poor creature, condemned to everlasting life..., I thought, while placing this last patch under my right eye. I hope he dies one day, but I didn't really care about his suffering because I had mine.
Ahhh, this patch feels so good; I'm gonna do another one on the other side. I got up from the bathroom floor, where I was doing this ritual every Sunday, and walked in front of the mirror. Who is this guy? A young face of a 30-something years old, looking back at me with large eyes, raised eyebrows, and a crooked smile. I smiled too because I knew what was coming next: the pealing. I pinched the corner of the silver strip and pulled it off violently. And then peeled off the one on the other cheek. Large tears rolling over the sore skin of my cheeks left a burning sensation. I loved it and kept on peeling them all one after another. The pain felt refreshing.
I looked again over my shoulder and saw my monster crying.
- Why do you cry?