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The words echoed louder to become a numb ringing; I couldn’t focus on them, or their meaning, but I couldn’t think about anything else. Trapped between an all consuming thought and a vacant brainlessness, the words “Indeterminate death day” crashed over me again and again, my mental strength eroding with every wave.

I threw up; I saw myself deliver the white bread chicken and cheese sandwich into a bag lined bin the doctor preemptively put before me. My watery eyes blinked to focus on the doctor, covered in white, who spoke slowly so I could lip read.

Face has always been in my life. At least, I can barely remember a time without it.

The paint bulged and bubbled like the skin of a balloon stretched over a reaching hand. Slowly it became tight around distinct forms, hollows and bulges formed eyes a nose and a mouth. In my bedroom wall a face appeared, a uniformly round bland and non-threatening face that stared blankly, the size of a tea saucer.

Although it was weird I was not scared and I didn’t really question it. All sorts of strange things happen. My friends had their own Face too…


Perdix is a British writer obsessed with building world though understand Medium is better for thought pieces.

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