Out, Damned Spot

It was a glorious plan: I would dye my hair red. I would look irresistible and complementary of the festive season all at the same time. It was a glorious plan, and then I realised that red dye on top of black hair only makes a deeper black. Save for the blonde roots, which would become red roots. Black hair and red roots. Ginger roots. Ginger trying to disguise ginger and failing miserably. Awful. So awful that looking at it would make your eyes water… although that might also have something to do with the ammonia. Awful, but fixable. Tomorrow I would purchase some more black hairdye and save my roots from ridicule. Tomorrow everything would be fine.

And so with tomorrow my hair was fixed and I became sassy and tremendous once more. But there remained a single fragment of red: a red spot upon my hand where the gloves had split. No amount of soap and water would rid it. Nor toothpaste. Nor battery acid. I couldn’t stand the silent ridicule from my work colleagues and friends; non-existent, but potent. A secret ginger. Caught red-handed. I could stand it no longer.

I took a glass bowl from the kitchen and emptied the contents of a bleach bottle into it. And then another. And then another. Then I plunged my hand into the bowl and waited.

For hours I sat, growing dizzy from the bleach. It smelled chemical and carbolic. There was also the faint scent of biscuits from my liquefying flesh. My hand burned without respite. My skin crawled all over my body, pulling up from my arm, trying to sever itself from the dangerous mixture at the end of my hand. I drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes I was walking into the warmth of a swimming pool; other times I was in a bakery devouring donuts and being sick on the Christmas cakes; but most of the time I was sat in a bathroom, dissolving my hand in a glass bowl filled with bleach.

Eventually the pain stopped, but the smell was overpowering. The nerves in my hand had dissolved, but my nose was still greeted by the remnants of my flesh, soaked in a cocktail of Toilet Duck and Lemon Scented Household Bleach. Disturbing and delicious. I pulled my hand from the bowl with great difficulty and lay on the floor for a few hours more, the bleach running from my hand gently dripping onto the bathroom floor tiles, making them fizz and hiss.

Finally I opened my eyes and looked at my hand. It was no longer recognisable: it had become a sludgy mess of red liquid and exposed bone, partially dissolved and utterly destroyed. I pulled myself to my feet and looked in the mirror. I was horribly disfigured… but at least I wasn’t ginger.

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30 thoughts on “Out, Damned Spot

    1. I changed your Pic, hee hee… The other one was one I had when I had suggested having an “Anna’s Corner” Page on the site, lol

      Back when I started the site

      The Picture is much more Purple Octopus-ish now, lol

      DarkJade-

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  1. Took me until I had a poo a couple hours ago to read this, too much drinking, I drank something that closly resembled bleach. Served by a ginger.

    Fucking gingers.

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    1. I once had a White Russian in a bar in Nottingham that was so disgusting it made me pass out. I could only assume the same had happened to you… but now you’re alive again the insanity shall resume! Huzzah etc :)

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  2. My 21 year old daughter is a ginger and I KNOW it has made her a stronger person. Literally. She started kicking asses early on and didn’t have to deal with the name-calling for long. Now she’s going to college to get her degree in criminal justice and law enforcement. Ging with a gun. Hehe.

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    1. My sister’s ginger and she’s awesome! She’s going to be a drama teacher, or an actress of some kind. Either way she’s still awesome. Yay gingers!

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  3. Oh no Anna. You’ve done it now. As always your writing skills, and knack for pulling me in were great. The problem is that all my once, brilliant white underwear are a dingy shade of gray. I went to do my wash, thought of your post, went to put bleach in the washer, and accidently got some on my arm. I then started to feel a slight burning and itching sensation. I then tore off all my clothes, and have been in the shower scrubbing for an hour. I still love your blog. I just hope I’m not reading it next week with only one arm.

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    1. Oh, Bothered! I get bleach on my feet all the time. It’s not the nicest of feelings, is it? Hopefully you still have an arm next week :D

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    1. I bet it looks fantastic! I’m planning on dying mine purple… it’s the ultimate hair goal! I just need to make sure my manager is cool with hair craziness. I’ve had it pink, green, blue… but purple is the goal. Onwards to purpleville!

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  4. Ugh. The things that can go wrong in coloring one’s hair. At least you DID manage to get that red spot off. Never mind that you now have only one had. Sacrifices must be made at some point in our lives, eh? Lol. Honestly, your voice in writing/blogging is extraordinary. You paint such surreal images with your words… Love it! :D

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  5. A red spot you can’t get off? How very Shakespearean of you!

    I want to go blonde but my black roots would look awful. I already know I’m too lazy to keep that up.

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    1. I think dark roots look a lot nicer than blonde roots- I have that problem! Black hair and blonde roots always makes me look like a tramp. Which is good for a while, until people start throwing half-eaten sandwiches at me.

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    1. Argh, you got me! I didn’t bleach my own hand. I tested it on some homeless person for the purposes of the story. Worth it!

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    1. Thank you Annie! It’s always good to smell biscuits when you’re maiming yourself. It makes it all so much nicer.

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  6. Splendid… This piece actually reminded me of a Dream… One you keep hoping to Wake from… The way you used the Color Red in this piece was Visceral. I am a Huge proponent for the use of Color in Pieces… And that would also be true if I got back to Film Making. As you can see in my Comic Book Pages on my Blog, it starts out with the Main Character being in “The Red Room”.

    Great Job Anna, loved it

    DarkJade –

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