The Alien - #writing

He blinked at the mirror, not recognizing the person who stared back. His sleep-fogged mind tried to focus on the mindless ramblings of the image, but the words held no meaning. He shook his head, hoping the apparition would dissolve into his dreams.

Trying to get on with his day, he picked up his razor and began to remove the shaving cream and stubble from his face. He tried ignoring the image in the mirror; it wasn’t his; he was certain. Part of his mind wondered if it was an alien trying to communicate, or perhaps a demon trying to escape some nether realm.

He stood watching, then glanced at the razor in his hand. He knew what he had to do. A moment later he lay sprawled on the cold tile floor, the blood pooling on a poorly made pillow that hadn’t been there before.

©2021