The Face in the Mirror
Now being a widower, and living alone, lockdown was not much different from his normal life. He would get up early, eat his breakfast, and then pass the day in his set routine, centred around his reading and radio, with some television in the evening before an early bedtime.
What changed was his time in the bathroom. Once shaved, he spent more and more time studying his face in the mirror. Gradually, he began to find that the face staring back at him was not his own; and he thought: if not his, then whose?
He became frightened, being now alone with that face in the mirror. He tried to exorcise it, by getting to the bathroom before it; but it was clever – arriving at the same time and imitating his gestures; he would lie awake at night, knowing it was always there, waiting for him.
Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer; he put on his facemask and rushed out into the night, into the empty city. Striding past a shop window he staggered; the thing was now beside him in the window; it was even imitating his clothes. He had to be free – he jumped into the glass.