I lost my keys

6

When you were young, your older brother of about ten years told you about these evil little beings that lived on your skin, the walls, the food, outside, and everywhere else. Tiny critters that could make you sick enough to potentially kill you. It was at that moment, when you learned what bacteria was for the first time, that the boogeyman under your bed didn't terrify you nearly as much.

In elementary school this newfound knowledge lurked in the back of your head every time you went out to the playground or to the bathroom. When you stood in front of the sink, the electric sensor had the worst water pressure leaving the copious amounts of soap that you lathered your hands in still present. Once that soapy skin made contact with the freezing winter air, your knuckles chapped, cracked, and bled, which you hid by quickly washing your hands another time. The cracks scabbed and cracked again until the craters on your skin were so noticeable that even lotion was a nightmare to use. The pain you felt while trying to remedy the damage you'd done to yourself was impossible. You were afraid to moisturize which only meant the craters became deeper, engraving in your mind further that those pesky villains your brother mentioned were never going away.