𝐵𝑇𝑆 𝐼𝑀𝐴𝐺𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑆

𝑝.𝑗𝑚/ 𝑎 𝑠𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑝𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑦/ 𝐼𝐼

"What on Earth?" You muttered, now completely alert. You knew this wasn't rational. It wasn't a normal situation. In fact, the very idea of it was bogus. This wasn't a film, and it wasn't a film where the characters got shocked when something filmy happened either. You didn't want any supernatural shit to deal with.

You pushed your chair back, nearly knocking it over as you stumbled out of the room. You needed a moment to process whatever was going on. Planning to splash some water on your face, you slid open your bathroom door to find the day's second strange sight.

The man you had created was at your sink, inspecting your toothbrush.

Your mouth had gone even drier than before, your tongue sitting heavy in it like a rusty old pail in a well. He was just standing there, running his finger through the spitty bristles as though he was doing a task so typical as reading the paper.

"Curious," he seemed to mouth before placing the brush back in its holder and walking over to the bathtub. He swept back the shower curtain, casually peering into the drain.

He was yet to notice you hovering in the doorway, seemingly at ease. The same couldn't be said for you. Concern for your own well being had built up in your throat like phlegm. You had been sluggish since you woke up, and now you were clearly experiencing delusions.

I guess I'm what you'd call emotionally congested, you thought.

Clearly you'd been standing there for a while, because the clay man at your bathtub had finally turned around.

"Oh. Hello. What are you doing there?" He asked.

"I live here," you responded, your voice coming out a little scratchy.

"Really? How interesting. May I inquire as to what this object is?" He held up a bottle of shampoo.

"Uh- that's a shampoo bottle."

"Shampoo. Interesting lingo. How about this thing?"

"A toothbrush."

"Then what's this?"

"That's a razor. Hey wait, don't do that!"

He had run the tip of his finger over the blade the same way he had with the toothbrush. There was now a small gash on his index finger, but it didn't appear to be bleeding. The inside of the cut was the same ivory color as the rest of his hand.

"Shoot! Are you okay? Oh god, am I okay? What's wrong with me? Why is this happening?" You swept your fingers through your hair, combing it rather aggressively when you met with a small knot.

"I'm not sure. Perhaps you have some sort of illness." He seemed to fixate on your aggressive detangling. "I am not sure as to what your goal is but this method of achieving it does not seem to be effective."

He picked up a strand of your hair and held it up. "What do you call this?"

"Hair."

"Are you trying to remove this lump?" He asked, looking at the knot in between your fingers.

"Ye- ow!" He tugged on the chunk of hair and immediately yanked his hand back when you cried out, appearing slightly frazzled.

"Why did you make that noise?"

"Getting your hair ripped out is a little painful." Having just been brought to your senses, you realized the bathroom exhaust had been on throughout the duration of your conversation. As had the shower light, the tub lights and jets, and the little lamp in the corner. You quickly switched them all off as he watched, not wanting your electric bill to make your new list of concerns.