So stay awake she did, and when she was certain they thought her to be asleep, she snuck from her bed and crept down the hall. Softly, softly, so that her parents wouldn't hear her. [ She lowers her voice again, just to a stage whisper—soft, but audible. ] As Mai carefully made her way down the hall, she began to hear snippets of her parents' conversation. It wasn't until she was right upon the door, however, that she could hear them clearest.
"She'll have to learn how to take care of herself," her mom said. "I think next year is as fine a time as any."
"I didn't learn how to do it until I was an adult," her father argued, and Mai heard him smack his hand against the table in emphasis. "When she turns twenty, we'll tell her."
"Don't hit the table, dear," her mother sighed, and as Mai peeked open the door, she could see her shake her head. "You'll ruin the paint."
Her father raised his hand to inspect it, and as he turned it, Mai couldn't help but gasp: there was a spot of grey on it. He sighed in irritation and picked up a brush with a skin-colored paint on it, covering the spot. Her mother, though, had heard her gasp, and her eyes slowly raised to the door.
Now that Mai was really looking at her head-on, she could see that only half of her face was normal. [ She raises her hand, covering half her face. ] The other half was grey and completely bare of any of her mother's wrinkles or freckles, or any of the other things she had come to associate with her. It was, instead, something like a...
[ ... ]
A mannequin: no expression, no features. Only grey, plain plastic. And as Mai looked down at her own hands, trembling slightly, she began to really notice her skin... and the cracks beginning to spiderweb across it.
2/3
"She'll have to learn how to take care of herself," her mom said. "I think next year is as fine a time as any."
"I didn't learn how to do it until I was an adult," her father argued, and Mai heard him smack his hand against the table in emphasis. "When she turns twenty, we'll tell her."
"Don't hit the table, dear," her mother sighed, and as Mai peeked open the door, she could see her shake her head. "You'll ruin the paint."
Her father raised his hand to inspect it, and as he turned it, Mai couldn't help but gasp: there was a spot of grey on it. He sighed in irritation and picked up a brush with a skin-colored paint on it, covering the spot. Her mother, though, had heard her gasp, and her eyes slowly raised to the door.
Now that Mai was really looking at her head-on, she could see that only half of her face was normal. [ She raises her hand, covering half her face. ] The other half was grey and completely bare of any of her mother's wrinkles or freckles, or any of the other things she had come to associate with her. It was, instead, something like a...
[ ... ]
A mannequin: no expression, no features. Only grey, plain plastic. And as Mai looked down at her own hands, trembling slightly, she began to really notice her skin... and the cracks beginning to spiderweb across it.
[ She pauses and lowers her hand... ]