by Mallory Needles

The straps dig into my wrists and ankles. The doctor hums as he sticks the electrodes on my head. His face is hidden under a grimy mask and greasy hat. Only his eyes, wild with glee, peer out from underneath.

“Shall we get started?” he sings. His voice seems familiar…

“Listen Doc,” I cry, wrestling against the straps. “There’s no need for this. I swear I feel better.”

The doctor leans over, pulling down his mask… and to my horror I see my own hideous face grinning back at me.

“Oh, but the doctor knows best…” I giggle to myself.

Mallory Needles

Mallory Needles currently lives in Munich, Germany. He likes reading, sleeping, and drinking cups of (far too sweet) tea.