The crash looked quite strange, at least at first sight. Straight, deserted road, nice weather, but the little Toyota somehow had managed to ram into a roadside tree. Maybe someone had pushed the car out of the way, and then ran away. That seemed logical. Or the driver was drunk?

The hearse’s chauffeur pulled out to the right, stopped and got out. It’s obvious that the accident had happened minutes ago and it was his “honor” to help. His heart started pounding in his chest. He had never been in such situation before but was willing to do his best to help.

The front side of the Toyota was so crumpled that it could easily be compared with concertina. But what startled him the most was the fact that an arm was hanging in front of the bent door, the fingers curved like eagle’s claws. A head was sticking out of the broken side window; young woman’s head, because the hair, tangled into the corrugated doorframe, was long, pearlblond in color.

The man got closer and took out his phone, dialing 911. However he had serious doubts if an ambulance will appear soon at such a remote place.

The man was working at a funeral home and was accustomed to ugly sights but what he saw bowled him over. The girl’s right eye had sprung out of its socket and was dangling on her cheek, supported only by thin thread of twisted blood vessels and nerves. The pupil was muddy, sprinkled with blood. The other eye was darting feverish glances, as if searching for something. Big strip of skin from her forehead was hanging loose, torn and frayed at the edges, over one of the exquisitely shaped eyebrows. The nose was bent to one side. It had turned into formless lump with the color of freshly grated beet. The left cheekbone was crushed, grotesquely caved in, and under the lacerated lips broken teeth were peeking. From under the hair, witch was clotted with blood, stuck up the edge of a half cut ear.

“Am I ugly?” the woman asked. Her voice was hoarse and trembling, but surprisingly strong.

“Madam, the ambulance will be here any moment, they will take care of you.”

“Am I ugly?” she growled persistently. Her good eye glanced pleadingly up, meeting the man’s embarrassed gaze.

“Don’t worry, everything will be OK…

“What’s your name?”

“Peter.”

“Peter, I want you to answer my question, at all costs, it’s important for me, clear?”

“Well… you don’t look very well." 

“So... I’m ugly! My face! Oh, my face! Something is terribly wrong, isn’t it, isn’t it?” I see only with my left eye, the other… I knew it, oh dear!"

“What do you mean?”

“I knew something bad would happen. My horoscope for the day was terrible. I should not have driven today, should have stayed home.”

“What caused the crash?” Peter asked. He thought it would be better to carry on a conversation with the injured woman who obviously wasn’t about to lose consciousness.

“The heel of my shoe got stuck into the mat at I stepped on the gas pedal instead of the brake. Then I panicked and the steering wheel slipped off my hands...”

“So you are not drunk?”

“I drink rarely, only Champagne from time to time.” Despite the broken teeth and the crushed cheekbone the woman was speaking relatively clearly, with only a slight lisp. “Be honest with me. Am I ugly?”

“That’s not important right now,” Peter snapped, and immediately regretted having been so rude. “You are alive after all!”

“Peter, I’m a model. When I was a little girl I desperately wanted to be a model, and I became one, with great sacrifice of life. Do you have any idea how hard is for a rural girl like me to enter this business, how many men I had to sleep with to…” She moved her head a bit and turned her survived eye sharply to the right, as if trying to fix her gaze on something.

“Hey, do not move, you should not be moving at all!”

“Please, help me to turn my head to the right.”

“No, no, you must not do that. And why?"

“I want to see myself in the wind mirror! Please, please, please!" Her living eye emitted hysterical insistence. Peter took her hand in desperate try to calm her down.

With superhuman efforts she twisted her shoulder and, as a result of that, her head swung abruptly to the right. A painful moan left her bloody lips. But her eye managed to catch a glimpse of the cracked side mirror.

“That’s not me, not me! No, no, no.”

“Don’t look, don’t look!” Peter hesitated for a moment, then knocked off the mirror with precisely measured kick. The girl let out a couple of sobs and the tear that dribbled down her bloodied cheek quickly acquired a rosy tinge. Her survived eye looked down.

“Oh, a hearse!” she said with a start. “Is that your car?”

“Yes, I work for a funeral home.”

“If I die… they will have to bury me in a closed coffin?”

‘Hey, hey, what are you talking about? They will transport you to the hospital, where you will be restored to health and after that the plastic surgeons…"

“They won’t be able to fix me, I’m sure. I should not have asked. Am I really so ugly?"

Peter remained silent, hoping the ambulance will appear soon, because he was craving to get out of this terrible situation.

“Don’t let anyone take pictures of me, do you hear! No one should take pictures! If I appear in the newspapers in such condition… please do me a favor!"

“OK.”

“Insert my eye-ball back into its socket! Please, please, please!"

Long, tearful coaxing ensued and he felt his heart tearing apart. Finally he agreed. He took tentatively the gouged eye and shoved it into the bloodied orbit. A smacking “plop” sounded. The girl started wailing but a minute later visibly calmed down.

“Am I less ugly now?”

“Of course,” said Peter, although the eye looked even more dead and glazy than before. Moreover, it hadn’t had found its natural place and had tucked inward the upper eyelid.

The girl spat out a tooth and stared gabbling:

“The paparazzi will surely hunt me down in the hospital and will take pictures of me. The mere thought of that… The yellow press would publish the images and the people would be laughing at me. And those, who till now envied me, would have a great time. Do you have any idea how much hate exists into our business? My career is ruined; they won’t be able to fix me. I’ll look like a monster to the end of my life, and I’ll have to hide. No man in his right mind would want to get involved with me. That’s the end of my dreams. Without beauty, I’m nothing, null. My face is so disfigured that you didn’t understand who I am, although you must have seen me on TV."

“But you are alive, and that’s what really matters. Life is the most valuable gift of all.”

“I do not want such a life, I don’t want it!”

Peter grew even sadder. He had a soft heart and other people’s misery affected him. He often cried at the funerals of complete strangers. That’s what he was – sympathetic, insanely naïve, always ready to put himself in the shoes of those less fortunate.

He got closer to the girl, who at this moment was shedding tears from her good eye, cursing her bad fortune. He kneeled before her and tenderly touched her cheeks with both hands, then grasped her head tightly and with single abrupt motion turned it backwards, crushing her already damaged neck vertebrae.

The girl just peeped slightly, and then fell silent. For a split second her good eye flickered with surprise, which was immediately replaced by deathly glaze.

Peter somehow managed to open the door and pull the corpse out. He grabbed the dead girl under the armpits and started hauling her toward the hearse. The four inch heels of the shoes, with which her feet were clad, scraped irritatingly on the asphalt surface, leaving thin grayish marks there. Peter opened the back door, and then pushed aside the lid of the empty coffin that seemed to be waiting expectantly behind the frosted glass. While he was putting the body of the deceased model into the coffin, a siren echoed in the distance, but he didn’t get confused. He closed her eyes – the left eye closed completely, the right one – only halfway – and with a somber voice said:

“I won’t let those scoundrels see your present ugliness. I swear by all that is holy!"

He sat behind the wheel, started the engine and set off.