TW: Violence
Homo-sapiens. The thinking man. The wise man. Man. Human. Woman. On Earth for around 300, 000 years, they migrated from Africa and went on to colonize the entire world. Characterised by their bipedality, minimal body hair and ferocious ability to adapt to their environment, they created agriculture and with it, bid farewell to their nomadic lifestyle. Some still retained the ancient ways, migrating with the seasons, hunting, trading, seeking knowledge and of course, fighting over imaginary lines drawn on maps.
Throughout history, the homo-sapiens befriended many animals to aid it in its pursuit of these things. Most commonly, the horse and wolf (now dog), were used for things like conquests and the hunt. Other populations befriended falcons or eagles alongside dogs and even formed symbiotic relationships with sheep, cattle and bees, offering them food and shelter in exchange for their meat, wool, milk and honey. Yet in the last few centuries, most have forgotten the ways of nature and have separated themselves from it entirely, faring war against each other over money, oil, or religion. Some Homo-sapiens are predisposed to this hunger for violence and aggressive behaviour while others are share more submissive or agreeable traits.
In my years of studying them, their diversity in character and expression never failed to amaze me. It’s almost funny how despite being part of this strange and marvellous species, I couldn’t feel any more foreign to it.
I kept glancing at the stranger on the other side of the mirror, she seemed normal, at least at first glance. If I looked too long I could see that her skin was eerily smooth and felt like warmed silicone, with dimmed, asymmetrical eyes and a crooked nose that could hold up glasses. Meanwhile, her hair was wiry and sticky to the touch with a copper colour that looked synthetic in sunlight. The white fluorescent lights of the bathroom made her look all the more horrendous.
I traced my mouth with my thumb and cringed at the artificial feeling, like two boiled sausages, ripping at the seams from too much bulky, disgusting filling pushing against the pig entrails wrapping it. I shoved my index in my mouth and traced my teeth, these strange jagged bones encased in gelatinous flesh made perfectly to cut both meat and vegetables. And yet, all I felt when I touched them was grainy, badly polished wood instead of smooth bone. My fingers were another issue by themselves. I brought my left hand to my face to examine it more clearly. I swear my fingerprints are changing the more I look at them. One moment, I had a big swirl that stretched to the left side of my finger pad and the next, it would be interrupted by a random line going through it that disappeared after I blinked.
I wish I felt human.
I touched my throat, digging deep into it with my fingers, pressing on my voice box to adjust my tone. I tried saying a few words and phrases like “Hello” or “How are you” but my voice was somehow devoid of any emotion— like one of those moments when you can tell an actor is acting. I pushed harder into my throat, if I could just reach my vocal chords and rearrange them to show my sincerity or at the very least, a real emotion, all would be well.
I wish others thought I was human.
Other people’s gazes pierce their way into the deepest crevices of my soul where hides the thing. This strange rot that resides between my ribs where a heart should be, pumping black tar through my veins and infecting my brain with all the wrong things to say, laugh at, or even the wrong moments to blink. When was the last time I blinked? I shut my eyes and opened them again, then again and again. The movement felt mechanic rather than intuitive. I became more aware at the extent of the control I had over my body with each try, as if I were the marionette and the master all at once.
I went to my room and wrapped myself tightly in the covers of my bed to scroll through the Instagram accounts of people I love, hate and am indifferent to. I found my fingers typing @jasonwise.oak in the search bar. Word-play, how original. I rolled my eyes before pressing his profile. His was an account I gravitated towards often.
He had curly brown hair he usually slicked back with some gel, green eyes, and a crooked smile that I’m sure many found charming. He had graduated without honours from a random university in a random state and was the head of finance in some random company. Jason’s pride and joy was a golden retriever named Buster with whom he went on a morning run every morning. He had a loving girlfriend, I stalked Her account too. She was ethereal, with straight blonde hair down to Her waist, wide-set blue eyes and skin so pale She’d make you think She’s the moon personified. What I loved most about her was Her voice was soft and airy like a Disney princess, contrary to my strange, emotionless one. I need that, or else everyone will know I’m an imposter. I don’t mind being ugly but an emotionless voice is unacceptable.
I’ve studied the ways of Man as an anthropologist for over 10 years now. I know perfectly how much displays of emotion, wether they be positive or not, are important to establish humanity. It’s the one thing I struggle with— I know exactly what I need to do in order to blend in physically speaking, I just can’t seem to anthropomorphize my behaviour. There is always something that gives me away, an awkward look, a laugh, a misplaced comment, the list goes on…
I crawled off my bed and pulled my blonde wig out of my dresser. I put it on then headed to the bathroom to look for my blue contacts. I found them after a few minutes of rummaging through cabinets upon cabinets of unused medication and expired makeup. I pulled my eyelids apart as far as I could and placed the lenses on my corneas, blinking a few times to settle them into place.
A picture of Jason’s girlfriend was next to me at all times through this process, wether it be on my phone or stuck on my mirror. I had to do my makeup exactly like Hers: a glowy base with neutral eyeshadow with light contour, a peachy blush and fake freckles for a more natural look. Even with the wig and contacts it was obvious that the makeup looked wrong on my face, as if I were wearing a hyper realistic mask of Her face but got the texture entirely wrong. I used the exact same products as Her and yet the makeup was patchy, with oil peeking to the surface within minutes, ruining it all. In that moment, She went from someone I was indifferent to, to someone I hated.
For days I scrolled down Her page, leaving hate comments using an alternate account and not leaving my bed unless it was to go to the bathroom. My favourite posts were the ones where She was filming Herself doing and talking about mundane things. I found myself trying to mimic Her speech patterns, Her accent, the way She overly enunciated certain words, the way Her consonants were sharp and Her vowels were soft. I wish I had that much range. I tried to replicate the tone and emotion of Her voice too, but I sounded like a parrot mimicking a sound I didn’t know the meaning of.
It drove me insane, I started learning Her routine. I’d watch Her “My day as the head of marketing in a Fortune 500 company” and “what I eat in a day as a girl trying to be healthy while still having fun” videos obsessively. I started waking up at 6am and go on a morning run through the park like Her. I bought the same coffee machine She used, drank the same disgusting espresso shot, did my hair the same way, and bought the same workout set. I had to emulate Her perfectly or die trying.
I started following Her and Jason regularly in hopes of striking up a conversation. Monday to Wednesday, they went on a run with Buster, go to Café Crème for a double shot espresso while The Girlfriend got a latte with 2 pumps of vanilla and 1 pump of caramel syrup, then they’d go to work. On Thursdays, they’d go for a short walk by the beach with Buster following closely behind and then She’d go to a painting lesson with Her best friend Daisy.
On Fridays, The Girlfriend would spend the day at work, presenting new marketing strategies and flirting with Her colleague Ryan, always rejecting the offer for drinks after work as if She had some pressing matters at hand. She never did, She’d always go back home and read a book with a steaming cup of tea in hand. The weekends were reserved for brunch with “The Girls” and book club meetings that ended with Her sipping on wine just enough so Her lips were stained burgundy. I wondered if I could taste it on Her lips, catch the fruity and earthy notes that married perfectly and absorb some of Her warmth.
I worshipped them. I started looking at listings to adopt a golden retriever by the sixth week, even had an interview lined up for a position in their sister company to stay close to them but I didn’t make through the first round of interviews, something about my communication skills or lack thereof. Typical. Jason specifically fascinated me, despite being completely ordinary, he had the respect, money and girlfriend of someone who had accomplished many things in life. I both hated and admired that about him.
He caught me following him once, and waved me over. I hated how flattered he seemed, as if he was so interesting he almost expected to be followed. He got standoffish when I came closer. His nose crinkled ever so slightly and disgust flashed in his eyes as he looked at me. He analysed my eerily small eyes, artificial skin and wide mouth. Even if he couldn’t properly place it, I could tell he knew something was wrong. He knows, he knows I’m not human. He can under the makeup, under the wig, heknowsheknowsheknows.
He smiled at me and joked that he was shocked someone else was crazy enough to be running at six in the morning and asked if I wanted to join him. I didn’t mention The Girlfriend, clearly, this moment was meant for us. We talked for a bit, I “learned” that Jason ran at this hiking trail every morning, that he loved it because it was always empty this early in the morning. I “learned” he liked action movies, that his favourite superhero was Superman and that he aspired to be as rich as Batman, though he was thankful not to have the sob story. He talked my head off about his favourite villain, some guy named The Joker with weird clown makeup and “complicated” philosophy. We started running together regularly after that, he even took me to watch the Joker movies because The Girlfriend hated them. Of course, we had sex right after. The poor man was practically bursting out of his pants from how long She had withheld sex from him.
What a stupid girl, I don’t understand why She’d refuse anything Jason wanted to do. She was lucky he was even giving her the time of day. The proof is in the pudding, here I was, in front of him looking nothing like her and yet he was smiling at me, holding my hand and eating my pussy. She really should learn to be grateful for what She has, otherwise someone might take it from Her. I loved him, I loved his voice, I loved touching his skin, burrowing myself in his warmth and sucking his cock. I hated that he never spent the night and the slight crinkle in his nose whenever he looked at my face.
Over the months, my jealousy of The Girlfriend grew in my belly, going from pea-sized to peach to cantaloupe. I hated everything that She did, that She was, despite that all I wanted was for Her to notice me, see all the effort I was going through to emulate Her, to get mad at me for taking Jason from under Her nose. I followed Her home from work a few times, asked for directions and complimented Her outfit. I did this so many times, randomly running into Her in a cafe, at Pilates, at a shopping centre, our meetings blossomed into a friendship and that’s when I gave birth to my Jealousy.
Our friendship was erotic to say the least. Neither Jason nor The Girlfriend were faithful. I only fucked Her once, to touch every part of Her, compare Her skin, eyes and hands to mine, to Jason’s. I loved Her scent, that mix of skin and sweat with a light floral perfume that perfectly enhanced Her beauty. However, despite knowing for certain that She’s human, having seen it, tasted it, I felt was the same warmed silicone that laid on my bones whenever I touched her skin.
I’d always play with Her hair, no matter where we were or what we were doing, my fingers always found themselves wrapped with thin strands of gold. I’d ask Her what conditioner She used and She’d tell me it was just genes, making my blood boil. It’s unjust that someone as ordinary as Her gets all the good genes. Her supple skin, sky-blue eyes, tiny button nose— they’re all too good for her. She didn’t deserve them, I did.
The decision to take it all from Her was the easiest I’ve ever made. My heart thumped out of my chest at the thought of cutting into Her face with a scalpel and stitching it over mine. It would all be over soon. Soon enough, I’d look at my hands and see fingerprints, touch my face and feel pores, pimples and other blemishes, speak and hear emotion in my voice. Soon, soon, everything would be alright.
© 2026 C. H. Gökdemir. All rights reserved.
Cece: Unfiltered 
Leave a comment