Bandages

When I was 13, my imaginary friend of childhood died by my hand. It was when I learnt that he was really real.

When I was 14, I killed my father in anger after he got drunk one night and hit me with the glass bottle. I kinda felt sad I did but I have since had no regrets the week after.

When I was just 15, my mother left. I think she knew. I’m glad I didn’t have to hurt her. She loved me too much and understood me, kinda.

When I was 16, I found out that my blood was like acid to the living. One drop could burn a hole in someone. Their own blood would not go near it. It’d sizzled near the drop. 

I had to be careful about myself. It’s dangerous to even spill just a drop. But, I did have those accidents where I killed those that didn’t need to die. Or worse. I didn’t want someone to try and do first aid on me.

Now, I wrap myself in bandages, to try and stem any blood I may start to spill. I also used to wear a mask. Used to.

Next thing I knew, it became my face. I can’t take it off, and my expression is shown on the mask. I probably lost my skin and adopted the bandages. I don’t try to see if I can take it off. I don’t have my skin melt off from my blood, but if I can forget long enough, I don’t have to think and then worry about it. But then after a while, I wonder about it. I mean, first the mask, why not the bandages?

It works, sorta. I haven’t killed anything yet and it’s been years. Well, except for breakfast, lunch and dinner. 

Having left home a week after my mum ran, I haven’t had a haircut since. It’s been 10 years. My black hair looks ridiculous dragging behind me, but living in the mountains, I kinda only have rocks to cut them with. I tried. It hurts. They even absorb the blood, which is kinda gross.

Yet, I’ve managed to adapt to this new life. It’s hard. But I know there are others like me out there. I saw one just before. A white mask wearing kid that makes me feel uneasy. Makes my skin crawl... I think it’s my skin and not the bandages. I don’t try and think about it.

But I could tell he was scared. He avoided me and my little camp.

I left food in the open a fair way away from the camp, suspended in a way that he may hopefully reach or manage to get down while still out of reach by nature.

One day, we’ll band together. I have that feeling... I like the thought and it make my masked face smile. Then I stop because I still miss having a normal face. Or is this normal and “normal” humans are in fact, the monsters?

There is a monster after me. I see him sometimes, looking down from a long ways above me, be it tree or rock. A plague doctor.

Am I his patient? Or his experiment? And how do I know he’s related to this?