An entry in The Crocodile Prize
Steamships Short Story Award
MY LIFE HAS NOT BEEN EASY. I have been cross-examined, pulled, poked, measured, close to being ripped and plucked off from out of where I am nested. It has been a long tedious journey and now I am manifested to be extinguished by a dermatologist, Dr Florres. Sad indeed!
Worse still, I am not a wart, as some people have labelled me to be. The difference between a wart and a mole is that a wart is a growth that is contagious and pink or white in colour and is caused by a virus. I am not contagious, I am black in colour and I am more of skin pigmentation gone wrong.
But what can I say? Many humans get us mixed up because we happen to be parasites, yeah, no doubt about that. But, between you and me, warts are more disgusting as they multiply in unbelievable numbers. Look at toads, they have warts, eew!
I remember the times when I was loved and pampered. The extra hairs around me were plucked out, extra eyeliner was coloured over me and I was made to stand out. I was the distinguished black mole on the passport, identifying my host as a true citizen of Papua New Guinea.
How did I ever swell out of the membrane to be the centre of attention? Well, let me tell you it was not my choice to be where I am, plastered high above on the right side of the eye. You’d think with all the yapping going around, that it was by my own will that I am high up here, no?
The truth is that The Mole Case is broad. We are like a tribe of overgrown skin that has been recognised. A lot is written about us, but we are looked down on as if we are some kind of skin disease. But we may be more of a warning of some deeper ailment.
The human skin is a miracle garment. It is soft, pliable, strong, waterproof and self-repairing. Just imagine what you would be like without skin; the answer is simple, a big squishy mess (hahaha, so there)!
The skin is like a very large container, holding our insides in. It is the largest organ of the human body and without it all the delicate insides would spill right out. As I am part of the skin, I have to tell you that. So how have I become an excess piece of skin gone wrong? Well, I better let Google help me on that one, as the human race depends on it these days, so it is better for me to show you that my kind is talked a lot about on Google.
“Moles occur when cells in the skin grow in cluster instead of being spread throughout the skin. These cells are called melanocytes, and they make the pigment that gives skin its natural colour.”
There are many different kinds of us and some of us are quite dangerous. Google gave me information on our different classifications. I am sure I fit the category of ‘benign neoplasm, which means I have none of the characteristics of a malignant neoplasm (or tumour). I grow slowly, expand without metastasis (spreading of cancer cells from one organ to another) and usually, when I am extinguished I will not recur.
The idea of getting rid of me is a very big deal as I am connected to veins beneath the skin and the aftermath bleeding is quite a sight (yes).
I am not cancerous and you’ve had me for donkey’s years, so why remove me now? I hope it’s not for cosmetic reasons, as I truly hate this cosmetic era. Just look at Enrique Iglesias, he had the mole on his face removed and now everyone pokes fun at him and there’s even a Facebook account on Enrique Iglesias Mole and worse still his mole interviews him on YouTube. How shameful is that! I mean ain’t that good for his career?
Cindy Crawford’s got a mole on top of her lip and she is mighty proud of it. Her mole had truly become her trademark throughout her modelling career.
I believe having me is not at all bad. I am now labelled as ‘grown hideously ugly’, but is that my fault? I wasn’t born yesterday and I had to face this blistering sun in the unpredictable tropics. Not to mentioned the near death experiences I’ve encountered from those tiny fists and exploring fingers. Oh, and the unpleasant remarks and comments I’ve had to endure throughout has emotionally drained me.
But think about it. I give you identity and uniqueness and it’s kind of exotic having a black mole perched on the brows of your right eye, level with your brain. How cool is that!
You Googled ‘mole above the right eye’ and weren’t you pleased with what you found? The dream you had was a warning that doctors in PNG, will bleed you senseless and send you home looking like a zombie. The idea to extinguish sounds more like a fire extinguisher over me, so it doesn’t sound so depressing.
Honestly, it’s the idea of hydrogen cyanide that sickens me to the core of my root. I truly despise this cosmetic era which disturbs the harmony of the skin by injecting, scraping and plucking. Just thinking about it gives me goose bumps. Why can’t people be content with the way they look? I mean I am just a skin, your covering for goodness sake.