I raised my hand and wiped away a channel of steam from the mirror so that I would be able to see my reflection. I had just finished showering, just gotten used to the burn that seared through me whenever the water ran through the blisters that covered my skin—if they even were blisters, since they certainly didn’t look like them.
If I had to compare them to anything, I would compare them to a rash. They were blotches—big, fat, round blotches, that curled around my arms and my legs, my chest and my neck. It looked like an octopus had wrapped its tentacles around my body, and had bruised my when it had done so. There was a thin streak of it running up my left cheek, reaching towards the corner of my mouth.
The blotches were light in color in the centre, an odd combination of green and y
