I sought to blame
The one who came
Along and took my place.
She took my name
She took my fame
And then she took my face.

It's been a strange evening. I sat and chewed the fat inanely with Cody. Sank a swift couple of pints. Wolf-whistled from our cafe-bar aluminium table at a couple of insanely young, poorly made-up tarts who snickered and then scuttled off into the apple blossom dusk. Cody's just got back from Australia or Africa, I'm not really sure. He's tanned and happy and his left hand is bandaged up from where he was bit by some long beaked native bird.

The passers-by are animated, the brightly coloured rugby strips flow out of town, the skimpy covered clubbers brushing against this, going in. Cody lets out a wild and untamed belch, mouthing as it comes out to create the bastardized ghost of a word.

"But their beer is piss." He smiles, nodding authoritatively.

I laugh out loud and, then shudder slightly as a chill breeze stirs up. Gazing around, something isn't quite right, the sun is red and massive and low above the rooftops like that smog filled night in Malta, but neither I, nor the buildings, are casting shadows.

A swelling, itching sensation, emerges in my sinus' and spreads infuriatingly to the muscle beneath my left lower eyelid. Sweeping an extended finger across my nose I surruptciously glance down and spy a thin pale streak of red. My fucking nose is bleeding. Frisking my pockets rapidly for a tissue or a hanky as I curse, finding myself bereft of any materials with which I might stem the burgeoning flow. I pinch the bridge of my nose sharply, seeking to delay the issue of my lifeblood, fluid and sticky. I stagger up drunkenly from my seat, metallic blood marinating my tastebuds, mutter apologies to Cody and dash for the men's lavatory.

Inside is warm, my heart beats faster. Thick floods of blood bleed down the back of my throat. I swallow, choking slightly, accustomed to the sensation. The "Men's" is occupied. Eyes Close, Thump-Flood-Thump- Swallow-Thud-Flush-Thuddunk-Metal-Thump-Flood-Swell-Itch.

My skin aches beneath my pinching fingers. Accumulating sweat greases my sticky fingertips. With a darkened clunk and creak the toilet door swings open and in a rush of fetid air a grey-haired drunk spills back into the bar, glowering at me as he stumbles. Door shut behind me. I fumble with the lock.

Spacious, before me a white tiled room, spotlessly clean. A large mirror reflects back everything from the waist up and shows a row of cubicles on the opposite wall.

Wild-eyed I stare at my ghostly visage as I plug the sink and run a bowl of cold water. The only way to stop the bleeding is going to be to get air to the wound. I fetch a wad of paper towels and forcefully blow my nose. Goopy globs of gelatinous congealing blood spill out and for a split second I can breath freely again. I inhale and exhale rapidly through my nose until the blood trickles hot and quick to my lips. I lean over the sink and wash my face. Drops of blood fall, steadily, one by one into the water and bloom. Like the tops of clouds looked upon from an aeroplane or like many folds of a rose flower they are born, blossom and dissolve beneath my pale, sweating brow. Eventually the drops slow and then stop. I rinse the sink, the red stains turning yellow as they are diluted and wash away.

I dowse my face, hundreds of times and try to feel human again. Some blood has dried at the corner of my eye. I dip a corner of paper towel into the water, opaque, and scrub. Inspecting my handiwork in the mirror, the brown crust has been removed but at the corner of my eyelid there's a smear of blue, almost bruised, not quite natural. I rub it gently with the towel. Closing my eyes. The picture of a tired child.

When I open them again the blue has spread and it appears that I am wearing blue eye shadow. I rub again, harder this time but open them only to find eyes with blue iris', not the green of before, and heavy eyeliner staring strangely back at me. Cody must've slipped me some acid I conclude. I'll wash my face, try and focus, then go back and confront him.

But with each splash of water my face dissolves. The faint shadow of a beard disappears, replaced by downy blushered cheeks. Chin narrows, cheekbones rise. I raise a shaking hand to my hair and as it trembles the colour drains from each fibre. Light brown turns to albino blond and tumbles to my shoulders catching occasional strands on the greasy red of my slender lips.

Slipping on a pool of water on the tiled floor I fall and crack my head. Thump-Pain-Thump-Pain-Thump.

Staggering once again to my feet I raise my fearful eyes to the mirror , past my delicate hands with red painted neatly filed nails.

Louise stares back.