15
“No, God, no!”
Smoke couldn’t believe how he looked in the mirror. In the bathroom of his cell, he screamed at himself.
He didn’t recognize himself.
He was a goddamned beast.
His head—God, his head!
His skin was gone. Burned away. He should have been dead. His face was swirled and ghost-like. He looked like something out of a horror film. His hair fell down in silver tufts across his face. Someone had bleached it. He looked like an albino.
And his eyes. Gray with red pupils. Who had gray eyes with red pupils?
Not him.
Not any real person.
He moaned, brought his hand to his face. His skin was raw and tender to the touch.
He wanted to cry, but no tears came out.
Who was he?
Where had he come from?
All he knew was that he wasn’t himself.
He wasn’t himself.
He wasn’t himself
