SHE Writing Competition

Open Finalist: Mietta Postlethwaite

SHE who dreams

Their feet moved fast. Too fast. Tapping on the concrete footpath in front of me, their quickening pace keeping time with my pounding heartbeat. I tried to control my breathing. In out, in out. This was meant to be easy.

‘Come on’, I said to myself, ‘all you have to do is walk. Just put one foot in front of the other. Don’t even think about it.’

The problem was, this only made me think about it more. I could hear the buzzing of the needle from my view outside the glass. The crowd rushed forward on their way to work, their suits swishing past me as I looked beyond them. I breathed deeply moving forward. I pushed the door open and was greeted by the ringing of a bell. It was like the bell was announcing my arrival to the world, hello, I am here… and I am scared as hell. I shuffled over to the counter and was greeted by a man whose skin looked like the pages of a colouring book.

‘Ready?’ He asked.

‘Yes’, I lied.

The needle vibrated against my skin. The buzzing reverberated through my outer into my soul. I could feel the unpleasant sensation trace the picture into my skin. I couldn’t believe that after everything I had been through a needle as small as this unnerved me. I closed my eyes and thought about the future, and what this symbolised for me.

Rejuvenation…a new beginning. ‘All done’, the man said. I opened my eyes slowly, slipping off the chair and walking towards the mirror. I was hesitant. What if I didn’t like it?

I breathed deeply, tilting my head towards the reflection before me. The floral vines followed the twists and turns of the scar across my chest. The flowers covered the signs of cancer, transforming the red, puckered skin where my breasts once were into a blooming rose full of life and hope. I never had to see that scar again. The visual reminder of my anguished thoughts for the future had been erased. I traced the fine lines with my finger, feeling every incision bloom into something beautiful as I did. This was a badge of honour just for me. I had survived.

‘Thank you’, I said through a veil of tears.

She who dreams lives. She who dreams ….. survives.