I DISTINCTLY REMEMBER I WAS STILL GORGEOUS WHEN I WENT TO BED!

Smooth and soft, with a painstakingly cultivated healthy but not conspicuous tan, my skin is supposed to be envious! My pimple-plagued peers would die for the utter kissability of my regularly moisturised face!

Last night, my visage was a veritable ocean of porcelain pores, and now…

The prospect of walking through the school corridors in less than an hour can only be compared to venturing into the jaws of Hell.

Naked.

With ‘Vote For God!’ tattooed across my chest.

It is very possible that the collective vengeful wishes of my envious classmates have finally been granted – that the Lady Injustice paid a visit to get back at me for the years of outshining every other girl in town, and this is the result.

A single, pulsating pustule, a crimson monument to all that is grotesque in this world; shining like a great beacon of ugliness for all to see.

More than an imperfection, it’s a mistake. A weakness.

If I’m not flawless, what am I?