Martin stared at the face facing him across the bathroom sink, his chest rising and falling an abnormal amount.  It was a strange face, its pale shade interrupted by its bright red cheeks.  Its shoulder-length hair was messy and loose, sprawling out from its scalp.  What remained of its eye shadow streaked down its face like two massive scars.  Its face was stained with tears and sweat, making it almost shine under the dingy light of this public bathroom.

Martin was not certain what was now staring back at him.  Martin (at least in the moment) did not know what he looked like, but whatever it was was not that.  The thing across the sink cocked its head like a bird of prey sizing up its next meal.  Almost ready to strike.  Yet Martin could not will himself to break eye contact with it, he was entranced.  The luring morbid curiosity Martin saw in its eyes locked him in place, tightening his muscles and freezing his arms.  The thing in the mirror, the Other Martin, began slowly smiling.  The edges of its mouth curling upwards in an almost puppet-like fashion.  Its teeth revealed, a disgusting set of sharp and yellow knives jetting out from its gums.

Martin shook his head hard, regaining some amount of control of his reflection.  On the surface, he knew what a mirror was, and the very small chance that there was any living thing in it, but deep down some primal instinct of Martin told him to be scared.  The thing in the mirror couldn’t be Martin.  Martin knew who Martin was.  Martin was Martin.  And that thing was so disgusting, its eyes leaking soot and its hair rising slowly, the Other Martin couldn’t be him at all.  Martin knew who he was.

But as the minutes passed on, and as the staring contests between Martins continued, the dread of the situation swept in.  Martin started picking at the scar on his neck, still leaking blood, as it began to itch.  The more he picked at it, the more it hurt, but Martin felt like that was what he needed at the moment.  It kept his perception sharper, and his mind on the right track.  But even that didn’t really help.  His thoughts kept drifting away from anything real or important, and toward the thing in the mirror.  Its black eyes seemed to pierce deep, inspiring a frustrating uncomfortability in him.  Martin felt light, the fog of his racing mind blurring the reality surrounding him.  His whole body aching in waves of exhaustion and paranoia.  His eyes now left the gaze of the Other Martin, and darted around the room, covering every nook and cranny of the bathroom.

Martin didn’t know who he was anymore.  All he knew was that he was alive.  He slowly left his panicked state, instead becoming vegetative and slow.  He collapsed on the floor, leaning against the dirty concrete wall which was behind him.  He clutched his head between his hands, gripping at his skull, and wishing he was anybody else.

My cucumbers are growing!