Supposing there was one thing about you, something that perhaps you didn’t like, and someone offered to take it away. How long would you think about that decision?
Little Tiffany had always hated the mole on her cheek. Her mum called her special, but she knew that was yet another word for ugly. She sat in front of the mirror for hours, staring it down, hoping to will it into submission. More than anything, she wanted to watch it fade into her skin and be gone.
One day, as sometimes happens in stories like this, a good fairy appeared. “Tiffany,” he said, “you’re generally a good child, I don’t see why I can’t do this one thing for you.” He touched his wand to her face and disappeared. Like magic – for that’s what it was – the mole faded away and soon her skin was smooth as silk.
Tiffany lived happily for some time, until one day new blemishes appeared on her skin. Her mother said that was normal for girls her age, but Tiffany knew she was far from normal, for she had met a good fairy. Tiffany knew better than to depend on such things, however, and she set about making her face pristine once more.
She went to the local chemist and bought as many facial cleaning products as her pocket money would stretch to and, when they didn’t work, she began to steal more. To her horror, there were other girls at her school who didn’t have any spots at all, and this made her so angry that she put her leftover chemicals into their cups when they weren’t looking at lunchtime.
Tiffany was no longer a good girl. Of course, the good fairy had been watching all along, and decided that now was the time to intervene. As she slept, he returned, and put not one but two moles right on the end of her nose, one on top of the other. Not to be beaten, Tiffany responded by slicing them both off with her mum’s razor.
At this, the good fairy came back and covered Tiffany’s face in boils. Once more, she set to with the razor until her face was boil-free, and dripping with blood. Exhausted, she sat in front of the mirror and looked at the horrible mess she had made of her face. She wept, and the salt from her tears stung her in every cut – this was quite painful, as you can imagine, because in fact she was cut everywhere.
With no idea of how to go on, Tiffany remembered how she used to stare at her mole, and how the good fairy had taken it away. “Please, good fairy,” said little Tiffany, “if you will bring my face back, I promise you can give me my mole back, too, and I’ll never complain, and I’ll be a good girl forever.” And, to her surprise, her plea was answered. Behind her appeared the good fairy, looking very stern, but with wand at the ready.
“I hope you’ve learned your lesson, little girl,” he said, and from the kind way he said it, she knew he had forgiven her.
“The fuck I have,” she replied, and slashed him across the neck with the razor. Shocked, he raised his wand, whether to heal himself or hurt Tiffany we will never know, for she slashed him again, this time across his belly, and kicked him to the floor. Placing her foot on his wrist, she tore the wand from his weakening fingers.
The good fairy choked and bubbled, clutching at his ruined throat with the blood gushing out from between his fingers. Tiffany told him to shut up, then she shrunk him to the size of a penny and threw him into the toilet. With a flick of her wrist, she cleansed the bathroom of blood, and then did the same to her face.
Little Tiffany went to bed a very satisfied little girl, and she dreamed of interesting new facial disfigurements for the girls at school.