I lay down on the couch and propped my heavily plastered foot upon the stool my mother had prepared for me. I glanced down at the thick layer beginning to harden around my damaged ankle and sighed. It had only been yesterday that it'd been broken - practically smashed to smithereens the doctor had said - yet it seemed like a year, what with the frantic rush to the nearest hospital, the x-ray and anaesthetic, plus the extreme discomfort the hardening plaster had given me the night before. At least I wouldn't be back at school for another two days until the huge lump of plaster hardened properly I thought, looking on the bright side. I heard my mother calling me from the kitchen and slowly propped myself up to a standing position on the armrest of the couch and began my slow, stumbling journey down the hall.
Mum wanted to show me some new acne cream she had found down at the local store.
I had terrible spots at this point in my life and was forever trying new chemical concoctions to rid myself of it, none having the desired effect.
She told me the label said you were only supposed to wear the cream at the night time, as it needed to be applied for a minimum of six hours and left white marks where it had been put on, but seeing how I wouldn't be leaving the house that day and wouldn't have to endure the embarrassment of highlighting my abundance of pimples for the world to see, there was no reason why I couldn't apply it for the day. Clasping the small, white bottle in my hand I shuffled back down the hallway towards the kitchen and prayed that this would be the one that would...