My Face

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KimMiller aka DyaneFordeby Dyane Forde

 

MY FACE

I can hear it running around inside my head. An incessant scratching. Or raking. Like fingernails over a blackboard. Shouting and screaming don’t drown it out; it just gets louder, swallowing my voice. Beating my head with my hands can’t shake it out; they are sore from trying.

And then I look down. Clumps of hair rain down to the black and white bathroom floor from between my fingers.

The noise is a drone. It squeezes out thought and reason.

I am afraid.

Something shatters. Flecks of reflected silver splash against the wall. I’ve broken the mirror. Half a refracted face looks back at me. My face.

Mine?

The phone is in my hand. A warm voice pours out of the receiver. ‘Hello?’

‘Mom!’ I’m shouting but I can’t stop. ‘I-I–’ The sound blares, a mushroom-cloud of toxic thought exploding in my head. My fingers spasm but I manage to cling to the phone. ‘It’s happening!’

Again, warmth floods towards me, poking a tiny hole in the darkness. ‘Stay where you are. Don’t move. I’m coming.’

The phone beeps when I shut it off. I see the red-tinted broken pieces of mirror lying beside me on the floor. I close my eyes, stick my fingers in my ears and wait.

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