The woman in the mirror has been brutalized. Her face is caked in blood and dirt and sweat, a makeup job from hell. To call her hair disarrayed is to call a hurricane gusty, a tsunami a little damp. Her eyes are wet and gummy with trauma and maybe even madness. Her skin is scratched and burned; it’s puffy, it’s ringed, it’s sunken, it’s peeling. But she’s looking at herself.
