I look at myself in the mirror, the bronze lamps lighting my face as the sun sets outside. I sigh, shoulders slumping, and brush my hand across the scalp which until recently was awash with thick curls.

I never even escaped this city, not even once. Now I can’t escape this body.

I shuffle a red wig onto my head, the colour of a Spanish sunset.

“Hello Seville.”

A flamenco dancer twirls across the mirror in a billowing cloud of silk. I smile, but the dance fades, and it’s just me. The light outside sinks deeper. I feel a tear slip down my nose.

I try another, a short blonde bob. The pen on my desk becomes a cigarette. In the mirror, I am on a Parisian boulevard. I dip my croissant into my latte, but then it’s just me. When did my face get so gaunt?

The next wig is jet black, long and sleek. Now I’m staring down a Tokyo street lined with neon and crammed with excited people. My pulse quickens and I almost step out of my wheelchair to follow the crowd.

Each wig glimmers and then fades, leaving me in this quiet gloom.

Now it’s dark and streetlights flick on. The moon has awoken in the chill, and a stray beam catches metallic threads of a silver wig. I place it on my head and meet my eyes in the mirror. They look greener than before, the colour of the ocean. Beautiful.

It’s just me in my quiet room.

“Maybe this is enough.”

I surprise myself with the thought.

My heart flutters.

© 2024 A.K. Chidgzey. All rights reserved.