Sean, I repeated to myself. I have a habit of forgetting things.

Sean is my name, I was born in 1965 and I want to be a scientist.

This has been my habit everyday. Ever since I was admitted to a hospital I haven’t felt like myself.

My favorite place has been my bathroom lately, I look at the mirror and I know I’m there unlike
everything else it felt absolute and comforting. When you look at a mirror you see what you really are,
not what others think of you that’s why it brings me so much comfort.

A part of my hair kept standing stubbornly, no amount of pomade could keep it down. It irked me so
much, I kept holding it down and I finally released my hand yet more strands went up. I don’t know why
it’s so hard for this strand of hair to just comply. Fuming with anger, pouring the pot of pomade to my
hair no matter how much wouldn’t keep it down. I punched the mirror impulsively, it shattered pieces
of glass hovering above the sink, blood red. yet I still saw my reflection only this time I saw black snakes
slithering out of my hair one by one. Breathing got harder and I couldn’t move, these foul creatures
were inches from my eyes. Until one came closer and closer, its long tongue just millimeters from my
eye until it snapped. I remember being too dazed to scream so I stood still until I collapsed.

My mother was perturbed, she reprimanded me all day talking about how I needed to drink my
medicine. I know I’ve never had a good relationship with them but sometimes I wish they didnt bother
me about such frivolous things.

I have been ill I know but only my body my mind is healthy, no one could convince me otherwise. I know
what I saw and I know what is real.

Every Sunday my family had this tradition where we would all sit on a table and eat together. It was
often awkward and pointless. The food looked delicious but somehow I had no appetite, not because of
the maggots crawling around. I simply craved for something else. Trying to appear grateful, I scattered
the food around to appear as if I’m enjoying it. There was nothing to do so I stared and stared at my
hands, maybe it was just me but I saw a black spot on it and it started to itch. I kept scratching that spot
until my hands bled yet I felt no urge to stop. I kept going even when I saw layers of my skin peel off,
even until I saw the muscles of my hands contracting and the pale bony white appearing.

I Heard my mother scream, my father rushing to stop me but nothing could hold me back. It didn’t stop.
I remembering uttering nonsense, attempting to peel my skin off to stop this feeling of course
unsuccessful.

I felt like a stranger to my own body.

These plasters did nothing. They merely limited my movements maybe I was bounded by the confines of
these walls in my room but my mind kept wandering. “My name is..”, I forgot.

Treading around my room, I went to the bathroom yet again and stared at the mirror. My mind became
muddled the longer I stared at it the more things I noticed like how my eyes weren’t brown anymore
and how my room felt smaller In comparison. I observed myself in the mirror and I didn't recognize
myself. Everything got fuzzy, I felt a sudden sickness with apprehension. My head started growing horns
endlessly. All of my face was gone becoming a vast blank canvas. I couldn’t breath but I lived. I felt my
heart clawing its way out of my chest, agitated. My hands trembled and my feet stammered in
trepidation. My muffled screams barely coherent. I just wanted to apologize to family for what I had
done. Plunging at the door, hoping for someone to succor me. I saw yet I didn’t. I lived yet I didn’t
breath. Who am I? No. What am I?

The events that occurred after that was ambiguous as I failed to recollect what had happened
afterwards but I know its Friday as I smelt roasted beef from the oven, it was family dinner.

“Sorry for being late mom, dad, I wish you could see me right now, I got dressed up just for this.” No
reply. “Oh and no need to thank me about your face, I know how much you cared about appearances so
I set up a blank canvas just for you! Besides, I found a much better use for it blood really does taste
delectable.” I held their hands tightly as we used to pray before eating, their hands limp and cold. I
didn’t mind of course, this was one way to exist.