Soon Misty's tune changed. Doctors finally determined it was time to remove her bandages. Her sisters sat in on the event. Violet had come armed with a make-up kit. Now that Misty's face would be seen again, her sisters would celebrate by giving her a make-over. Misty warned them that she would have scars, and that no make-up could cover them adequately. Someone handed her a small hand mirror. She gasped. She knew she'd have scars, but she wasn't prepared for the face she saw in the mirror after the maze of bandages was taken from her. Her face seemed to be one big scar. She couldn't discern her skin from the endless network of scar tissue on her cheeks, chin and forehead. Her nose was wildly crooked. Her eyebrows had been shaved clean off, and had not grown back since the accident. A deep scar started at the corner of her mouth and dipped low to her chin, giving her a permanent disdainful smirk. Even a piece of her ear was missing. Her gaze traveled up to her scalp, which only had one large, skinny scar that led from the edge of her now non-existent hairline to the nape of her neck. The edges of it were smooth now. It looked like the stitches had been removed. The tiny holes where the needle poked through the skin where still there. It was the only thing to grace her bald head. The only feature she knew was hers were her turquoise eyes. She screeched and dropped the mirror as if it were on fire. "Oh, oh," she wailed. "I'm hideous! I'm a monster! I'd rather be dead than look like this!" She buried her mangled face in her hands. "My face! My hair! Why is my hair gone too?"
The doctor attending to her tried to soothe her. "My dear, your hair will come back," he said. "But we had to shave it and keep it shaved to operate on your head and brain. Now that it is behind us, your hair can grow."
"But, my face," she cried. "I'm ugly! So ugly!" She covered her face with her hands again but peered out at her sisters between the cracks between her fingers. "What am I going to do?"
They looked at each other in shock. All their lives, beauty had been their top priority. They were beautiful and they knew it. Before the accident, all three of them loved to rib Misty for not being as pretty as they were. In truth, they knew she was, but they loved torturing their little sister.
Now, Misty's face wasn't even a face anymore. The only visible beauty that remained was her eyes. They were speechless with shock and sorrow. They couldn't even look at her without grimacing.
"Great! This is just great," Misty shouted. "My own sisters can't even look at me! My beautiful sisters, no less! Well, I guess you guys were right. I'm not as pretty as you are. Now, I'll never be. Get out. All of you," she said suddenly. "Go on," she ordered when nobody moved. They vacated the room and left Misty to her own devices. She got up and closed the door. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor. She let herself descend into memories... Her first trip home after leaving after an argument with her sisters, shortly after she met Ash. "You want to be a Pokémon trainer because you can't compare with us.... You know we're so much more beautiful and talented than you are," Lilly had said.
Then, when investigating the disappearance of a small child, she, Ash and Brock were examining a "Missing" poster, which had a picture of the lost boy. "Someday, my face will be on posters everywhere, after I'm a big star," she had said dreamily.
"Yea, in horror movies," Ash had retorted.
The memory of the Pokémon Technical Institute flooded her mind. After seeing a picture of a pretty but cruel student and hearing tales of the mean things she'd done, Ash responded with, "It's better than some girls who look bad and treat you even worse." He'd been poking at Misty that day.
Now she was what they said she was--ugly. She'd hoped that they were kidding, deep down, but she never said anything of it, because she didn't want to reveal that side of herself. All her life she'd been straddling the line between the femininity her sisters exhibited and her true nature, which wasn't terribly feminine, but wasn't devoid of womanly charms either. She wanted to be desirable, beautiful and alluring, just as they were, but it didn't seem to fit with her. And, after one fateful evening, she would never be close to that again. She didn't even realize she was crying until she saw the tiny pool her fallen tears had formed on the sterile white floor. Consumed with shame about her mangled face, she grasped the heavy glass water pitcher near her bedside and hurled it at a mirror across the room. It shattered upon impact, shards flying everywhere. She looked at her reflection in the cracked pieces that remained. At least now she and the mirror matched.
The next day Daisy came to see her. She held a red velvet box. When she entered Misty's hospital room, she saw the bits of fractured mirror that carpeted the floor. "Like, Misty, what's going on," she asked. Misty sat in the lone chair in the room, peering through the cracks in the Venetian blinds at the courtyard in the middle of the hospital grounds. She didn't respond. Daisy searched for something to clean up the mirror mess. She went into the bathroom to find that Misty had performed an encore on the bathroom mirror as well. She'd even smashed the shower doors in, for they had been slightly reflective. When she emerged from the bathroom, she saw that Misty had taped paper towels over the screen of the television which sat across from her bed.
"Like, what's with all this," she asked.
"The TV was too expensive to smash," Misty replied without moving. "So I put paper towels over it so I couldn't see myself."
"Misty, this is totally nuts," Daisy sighed. "Look, I've got something for you."
"Nuts? Nuts," Misty asked, spinning around in the chair to face her sister's statuesque beauty. "I'll tell you what's nuts. All your life, you've been perfect. As a kid, everyone always said how cute you were. Now you're a woman, and you have guys drooling over you. Girls want to be you because you have perfect features. Silky blonde hair. What do I have? A bald head and scar tissue. Now, that's nuts."
"Misty, I'm, like, sorry about what happened, but you can't just totally lay down and die," Daisy retorted. "You still have your friends. You still have us. That's what's, like, important."
"Yea, right," Misty scoffed. "You three wouldn't be caught dead with me anywhere. You're too beautiful and your reputations are too precious to ruin."
"Is that how you think we are," Daisy said indignantly, hands on hips. "Do you think we're totally shallow? That we don't care about anything but ourselves?"
"You do! Where the hell were you when I woke up? Getting facials?"
"We didn't come right away because we were totally afraid for you. We, like, didn't want to see you dead. We totally couldn't handle it if you died, Misty. You're our baby sister." Her eyes teared.
Misty's chest felt heavy, but that didn't deter her bitter anger. "Wearing waterproof make-up today because you knew you'd be sharing a heartfelt cry with your poor, disfigured baby sister, Daisy?" She knew that scar near her mouth punctuated her hateful quip.
"You make it totally too hard to love you, little sister," Daisy said angrily. "Here. Hopefully this will show you we aren't totally selfish." She threw the pretty red box on the bed and left.
Misty sat at the window until night fell and it was too dark to see anything. She got into bed and examined the red box. She opened it and pulled out the contents: a collection of pure silk scarves that belonged to her late mother. Her mouth fell open as she looked at them. Recollections of her mother flowed over her. They were faint and fuzzy, but they still brought tears to her eyes. She knew Daisy had brought them so she could wear them over her scars and hopefully feel human, if not pretty, again. Daisy knew how much she and all the sisters loved those scarves and how much they were coveted. They used to divvy them up when they were younger and play dress-up with them. They felt like elegant ladies in the silk scarves. She swathed her head and face in the precious scarves so only her eyes showed. She did feel closer to human in them.
The doctor attending to her tried to soothe her. "My dear, your hair will come back," he said. "But we had to shave it and keep it shaved to operate on your head and brain. Now that it is behind us, your hair can grow."
"But, my face," she cried. "I'm ugly! So ugly!" She covered her face with her hands again but peered out at her sisters between the cracks between her fingers. "What am I going to do?"
They looked at each other in shock. All their lives, beauty had been their top priority. They were beautiful and they knew it. Before the accident, all three of them loved to rib Misty for not being as pretty as they were. In truth, they knew she was, but they loved torturing their little sister.
Now, Misty's face wasn't even a face anymore. The only visible beauty that remained was her eyes. They were speechless with shock and sorrow. They couldn't even look at her without grimacing.
"Great! This is just great," Misty shouted. "My own sisters can't even look at me! My beautiful sisters, no less! Well, I guess you guys were right. I'm not as pretty as you are. Now, I'll never be. Get out. All of you," she said suddenly. "Go on," she ordered when nobody moved. They vacated the room and left Misty to her own devices. She got up and closed the door. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor. She let herself descend into memories... Her first trip home after leaving after an argument with her sisters, shortly after she met Ash. "You want to be a Pokémon trainer because you can't compare with us.... You know we're so much more beautiful and talented than you are," Lilly had said.
Then, when investigating the disappearance of a small child, she, Ash and Brock were examining a "Missing" poster, which had a picture of the lost boy. "Someday, my face will be on posters everywhere, after I'm a big star," she had said dreamily.
"Yea, in horror movies," Ash had retorted.
The memory of the Pokémon Technical Institute flooded her mind. After seeing a picture of a pretty but cruel student and hearing tales of the mean things she'd done, Ash responded with, "It's better than some girls who look bad and treat you even worse." He'd been poking at Misty that day.
Now she was what they said she was--ugly. She'd hoped that they were kidding, deep down, but she never said anything of it, because she didn't want to reveal that side of herself. All her life she'd been straddling the line between the femininity her sisters exhibited and her true nature, which wasn't terribly feminine, but wasn't devoid of womanly charms either. She wanted to be desirable, beautiful and alluring, just as they were, but it didn't seem to fit with her. And, after one fateful evening, she would never be close to that again. She didn't even realize she was crying until she saw the tiny pool her fallen tears had formed on the sterile white floor. Consumed with shame about her mangled face, she grasped the heavy glass water pitcher near her bedside and hurled it at a mirror across the room. It shattered upon impact, shards flying everywhere. She looked at her reflection in the cracked pieces that remained. At least now she and the mirror matched.
The next day Daisy came to see her. She held a red velvet box. When she entered Misty's hospital room, she saw the bits of fractured mirror that carpeted the floor. "Like, Misty, what's going on," she asked. Misty sat in the lone chair in the room, peering through the cracks in the Venetian blinds at the courtyard in the middle of the hospital grounds. She didn't respond. Daisy searched for something to clean up the mirror mess. She went into the bathroom to find that Misty had performed an encore on the bathroom mirror as well. She'd even smashed the shower doors in, for they had been slightly reflective. When she emerged from the bathroom, she saw that Misty had taped paper towels over the screen of the television which sat across from her bed.
"Like, what's with all this," she asked.
"The TV was too expensive to smash," Misty replied without moving. "So I put paper towels over it so I couldn't see myself."
"Misty, this is totally nuts," Daisy sighed. "Look, I've got something for you."
"Nuts? Nuts," Misty asked, spinning around in the chair to face her sister's statuesque beauty. "I'll tell you what's nuts. All your life, you've been perfect. As a kid, everyone always said how cute you were. Now you're a woman, and you have guys drooling over you. Girls want to be you because you have perfect features. Silky blonde hair. What do I have? A bald head and scar tissue. Now, that's nuts."
"Misty, I'm, like, sorry about what happened, but you can't just totally lay down and die," Daisy retorted. "You still have your friends. You still have us. That's what's, like, important."
"Yea, right," Misty scoffed. "You three wouldn't be caught dead with me anywhere. You're too beautiful and your reputations are too precious to ruin."
"Is that how you think we are," Daisy said indignantly, hands on hips. "Do you think we're totally shallow? That we don't care about anything but ourselves?"
"You do! Where the hell were you when I woke up? Getting facials?"
"We didn't come right away because we were totally afraid for you. We, like, didn't want to see you dead. We totally couldn't handle it if you died, Misty. You're our baby sister." Her eyes teared.
Misty's chest felt heavy, but that didn't deter her bitter anger. "Wearing waterproof make-up today because you knew you'd be sharing a heartfelt cry with your poor, disfigured baby sister, Daisy?" She knew that scar near her mouth punctuated her hateful quip.
"You make it totally too hard to love you, little sister," Daisy said angrily. "Here. Hopefully this will show you we aren't totally selfish." She threw the pretty red box on the bed and left.
Misty sat at the window until night fell and it was too dark to see anything. She got into bed and examined the red box. She opened it and pulled out the contents: a collection of pure silk scarves that belonged to her late mother. Her mouth fell open as she looked at them. Recollections of her mother flowed over her. They were faint and fuzzy, but they still brought tears to her eyes. She knew Daisy had brought them so she could wear them over her scars and hopefully feel human, if not pretty, again. Daisy knew how much she and all the sisters loved those scarves and how much they were coveted. They used to divvy them up when they were younger and play dress-up with them. They felt like elegant ladies in the silk scarves. She swathed her head and face in the precious scarves so only her eyes showed. She did feel closer to human in them.