That Face That Isn’t a Face
The light hurts my eyes. I can see it streaming in through my cage, illuminating the bars. Sometimes it doesn’t seem so bad down here. He looks after me. He gives me food and water. He gives me a purpose. I exist to keep him sane. Somebody has to. Because you don’t ever want to see him when insanity takes hold. His face can change in an instant. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it contort and twist and fold in on itself until he is no longer human. His eyes – oh those eyes – they turn inside out until the back’s at the front. His teeth become talons that can rip and tear the flesh from your bones. And you don’t want to be here when that happens. So I stay here. With him. To keep him sane. I do it so that you never have to see that face that isn’t a face.