New face, more questions

The face that stares back from the mirror is not your own.

In place of your lean aquiline features you see a hard face, rounder than yours with a nose that has been broken at least once. A face that looks like it knows what trouble is, and has seen its share of it, and is not afraid. The eyes are dark, glinting with a cynical humor, in place of your familiar blue.

You stare unbelieving at the reflection, not believing what you see, then turn on the cold water tap. Your hands are different too. Now you have tough, strong looking hands, with scars across the knuckles, in place of your familiar elegant long fingered hands.

**** now to see what other changes there are you strip off the pajama shirt, looking at your body. You have more chest hair now, and your body is thicker, almost chubby. You push a finger into your belly and don’t find much give. You may be thick, but you’re certainly not flabby.

You look back into the mirror, closely examining your new face, still wondering what the hell is going on. This must be some kind of **** fueled nightmare, you tell yourself. It can’t be real, no matter how real it seems.

You throw cold water in your face, trying to think. You look back into the mirror, hoping to see the old you, but the hard cynical face looks right back.

You decide that if this is a nightmare, the best thing to do is let it run its course until you wake up. With that thought you leave the bathroom and start to look around the apartment. It's furnished very plainly, with no feminine touches at all. It's tidy enough, in a kind of spartan almost military manner, and the kitchen hardly has any food in it, as if you, whoever you are, never eats here.

You look out the window onto Post Street. The cars are all old, from the twenties you think. A few pedestrians look unfashionably old fashioned in their dress, but they look like they fit with with cars on the street. Somebody's making a movie, you tell yourself. The cars are for the movie and the pedestrians are extras.

Sure Sam, you tell yourself. Then what the hell does that make you?