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The authorities were so close that it seemed like they could see the soles of my shoes. I made a quick left, running towards a private clinic. I had a friend there.
The clinic was a nice place, very clean and hospital-like in a clean sanitary manner. But it didn’t harbour the same aura of pain and suffering like a large hospital would. I guess that’s because a day-
clinic slash plastic surgery.
Odd, huh?
The glass panel door was locked but I ignored the deadlock preventing me from entering. I tiptoed back a little and ran into the panel, glass shattering around me and (unfortunately) into me, piecing my soft skin. I yelped in pain but ignored the firey sensation burning up my arms and left side.
Through the hallowed halls, I galloped, leaving a trail of dripping blood behind me.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
My clothes felt damp, probably blood, and my face was dripping, most likely sweat. I looked at my left, then my right, peering at the numbered doors and offices. Office twenty-seven, office twenty-eight, office twenty-nine, I chanted softy to myself, oh so softly.
Bingo, office thirty. And, as an added prize, there was light pouring from the frosted glass window.
Now normally, I would knock before entering an office or a house or even a shady looking bathroom stall with no visible lock, but pardon social niceties, I smacked my right side (my good side) on the door leaving it to sway open.
In his chair was my friend, my confidant and almost-brother, Doctor Jermy Hyder. Ph. D in Plastic Surgery or something… I call him J and he calls me ‘idiot’ or ‘dumbass’ or sometimes ‘Spike’.
He was gazing out his wall sized window, over-looking the clinic courtyard. It was too dark at night to see anything that resembled a garden but at day time it was a typical little garden square with posies and daises and climber plants clinging onto crisscross wall dividers with tables and chairs scattering over the not-so-green grass. It was, as they say, cute.
“J,” I gasp “I need your help, the cops. The authorities, they-they’re after me! Please-”
He cuts me off.
“I know.” J says, turning to look at me, he then stands up and walks towards me, holding a steaming mug of coffee. J has never liked me in a romantic way…well not that I know of. He says I’m not his type and I’m okay with that. He’ll always be J, my almost-brother.
My eyes, watering a little in the corners from lack of sleep, search him.
He sighs and says the one sentence I love most.
“What have you done now, Spike?”
Rhetorical. Very J. That phrase is the most common from him…when referring to me at least. I don’t know if he knows anyone else named Spike…
I shrug, in my usual manner, trying to grin but failing to do so.
“Come on then, let’s get you patched up-” J tries to say.
It’s my turn to cut him off now.
“No, not yet. J, there is something I must ask of you.” I say firmly, my mind set.
His eyes now gaze, questioning.
“I want a new face.”
The mug in his hand shatters as it hits the floor, like my old life.
