“Hi,” Nora said. The woman turned. She was not Izzy.
She had sleepy eyes and a vacant expression, as if the zombies she was shooting had slightly infected her.
She was probably a perfectly decent person but she was not anyone Nora had ever seen in her life.
She smiled. “Hey. How’s that new poem coming along?” “Oh. Yeah. It’s coming along really well. Thanks.”
Nora walked around the flat in a bit of a daze. She opened a door at random and realised it was the bathroom.
She didn’t need the toilet, but she needed a second to think. So she shut the door and washed her hands,
and stared at the water spiral down the plughole the wrong way. She glanced at the shower.
The dull yellow curtain was dirty in a vague student-house kind of way. That’s what this place reminded her of. A student house.
She was thirty-five and, in this life, living like a student.
She saw some anti-depressants – fluoxetine – beside the basin, and picked up the box. She read Prescription for N. Seed at the top of the label.
She looked down at her arm and saw the scars again. It was weird, to have your own body offer clues to a mystery.
There was a magazine on the floor next to the bin, National Geographic.
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