It was methodical— surgical even. My focus was solely on steadying my hands. I barely felt the knife slice my skin, cutting through microscopic layers of flesh. My pelt was the first to go, then my face. I half expected to see metal coated in a black, tar-like substance once I peeled it black and yet there laid muscle, bone and blood. I stared as a few drops of blood fell into the puddle, staining my reflection. Regret crashed into me, filling my mouth, nose and eye-sockets and drowning my lungs in its thick, black paste. What have I done? I blinked and my reflection became tainted with a layer of black, blue, purple and green oil, dancing around Her beautifully crimson remains.
I gazed at my reflection a bit longer, holding the silicone wrappings in my hand. Stretching it, examining it closely. Something that looked so much like skin just mere moments ago now looked completely manmade. My fingertips grazed the metallic plates sitting beneath them, all I felt was a smooth texture similar to hardwood or polished stone, coated in that strange sticky substance. I must be imagining my own pain, white hot flashes that come and go, each more intense than the last. My reflection became the most grotesque thing I’ve ever seen. A sorry excuse of a creature trying to hide her ugliness, knowing it’s impossible. It leaked out of every crevice of my body, came out of my eyes and nose and ejected out my mouth instead of vomit.
I blinked again, the silicone became skin, each dermal layer covered in bloody, pulsing veins, begging for circulation. I jumped back, horrified before coming to my senses. This is normal, it’s just my brain prematurely imagining me as human.
I placed The Girlfriend’s scalp on my skull and used some of my own hair to stitch it with the bone needle. Each stitch was deliberate, put there by the hand of God Itself— perfect crosses that would soon melt into my skin and become indistinguishable from another human scalp. I was done within the hour, my fingers twitched with anticipation at the thought of stitching my new face on.
I positioned myself over the same muddy puddle as before, glancing at myself one last time before placing Her flesh on mine. It had cooled now, with black crust forming at the edges. I aligned the rim with the stitches on my scalp and started sewing. With each stitch, I could feel the prints of my fingers solidifying, lines in my palms forming and my hairlines melting into my skin.
Tears welled up in my eyes when I looked in the mirror for the first time. It was me, I was human and I looked beautiful. I ran my fingers through my hair, perfectly soft and smooth without any sticky residue on my skin and yet, I couldn’t help but notice that I didn’t feel any different. I still felt foreign to my body, to society, an alien trying to adapt to human culture. I just need time to get used to this. I packed The Girlfriend’s remains in plastic bags and buried them in four separate locations. It’s not enough, but it’ll keep the police off my trail until I can settle into my new life.
I drove to Jason’s house, ignoring several red lights along the way. I couldn’t be damned, I had to see his reaction to my new self immediately! Once I arrived, I sat in the car for a few minutes and stared at myself in the rearview mirror. The stitches looked rough but it was nothing some concealer couldn’t fix. Maybe I can pass it off as makeup. I used some latex glue to stabilize my eyelids, resisting the urge to pull at the loose skin hanging between the stitches and dabbed some taupe eyeshadow over my crease to blend it in with a neutral brown.
I admired myself for a few more minutes, twirled my hair around my finger and batted my lashes, giggling at the thought of finally being able to do these things and coming off as natural instead of rehearsed. However, my heart broke when I tried to pull at my cheeks to create a natural blush. I don’t know what I expected to be honest, I had that same, fake skin not even a replacement could fix. No matter what I did, it would come to the surface, a reminder that I’m not human, that I give off the same uncanny valley effect as a porcelain doll. I guess I’ll take someone else’s. I knocked on Jason’s door three times and waited for what felt like forever.
His eyes widened when he saw me. A myriad of emotions flashed before his eyes— pure shock at first, then concern, and disgust. “W-were you in an accident?! What happened to you?” He swallowed a gag before reaching to touch my stitches. “Seriously [REDACTED], who did this to you?”
I quirked a brow before moving my head. “What are you talking about? I did this for you!” I chuckled, “The doctor said the swelling will go down in a week, I just wanted to surprise you.”
“I liked your old face better,” he started, “This looks botched, like you’ve gone into necrosis or something it’s really freaky!” What a liar. He didn’t like my old face, he loathed it. I remember how much he’d squint during sex, how he’d mouth Her name and how his nose would wrinkle in disgust at the sight of my face. I remember how much he’d insist on turning off the lights, I remember it all. He didn’t like my old face better.
“You look awful! It’s like you’re wearing a skin mask or something.”
“Come on, Jason this is mean.” I sighed, willing tears into my eyes, “I paid a lot of money for this.”
He used to have the decency to hide his disgust in the past, now even that has left him. “Get a refund. I’m not letting you in looking like—” He paused mid sentence and grabbed my face. I half expected him to kiss me but I guess I was wrong. “How did you get that mole on your brow? You didn’t have it before.” Fuck. I’m so fucked.
“It’s sun damage, you know moles can appear out of nowhere.” I tried to be casual but my words were tired and hollow, somehow even more devoid of emotion than usual.
He took multiple steps back, pale-faced with terror unlike any I’ve seen in his eyes. “[REDACTED] what did you do?”
I guess Jason’s skin will have to do. His was warm, I’ve never forgotten the sensation. “Let me in, let’s talk.” He tried to close the door but I blocked it with my foot before forcing my way in. “Let. Me. In.” I noticed something trickling out of his pants, wetting my shoes. The motherfucker had actually pissed himself. “You have to be joking.”
“I-I’m sorry, okay? I’ll clean up! Please, just— Don’t hurt me,” he pleaded, tears rolling down his ever-changing face. “I’ll do anything, [REDACTED] please.” It’s funny how quickly their faces change. One second, Jason’s face was pale and the next, it was red as a tomato and scrunched up to reveal what was probably the ugliest cry I’ve ever seen.
“Jason, I’m so tired, just sit and let me do my thing.” He turned to run, big mistake. I grabbed him by the ankle and sliced his Achilles tendon, rendering him immobile.
The skinning process was easier now that I’ve had some practice. It only took me an hour to completely skin him and fifteen minutes to sew his face onto mine. With the proper tools, a med-kit and some much needed Jack Daniels, I was able to admire the new me with stitches placed even better than before in no time. I stared at myself a bit, this time, I’d shaved some of Jason’s cheekbones off and placed them on top of mine, shoving bits and pieces of fat in there to make them look natural. I’d also carefully shaved off the small bump on my nose, imperceptible to most, but it’s something that had bothered me most of my life. When I finished, I realised just how androgynous I looked. I had managed to capture the exact otherworldly beauty The Girlfriend had and it was quite funny that I’d ended up achieving it not with her remains, but Jason’s.
I cleaned my stitches with some rubbing alcohol, it stung, of course, but at least I had real skin now. Or so I thought. The second I placed the last stitch, Jason’s skin morphed with mine and became yet again, smooth, disgusting silicone.
I immediately started sobbing, chest heaving, lungs fighting for an air that seemed to escape me with every breath. All this effort for nothing, all this killing for a momentary feeling of belonging. I hit my head multiple times, thoughts jumping around in my mind, in front of my eyes, voices yelling at me in gibberish and hands grabbing at me from all sides. There was nothing I could do as they pulled me down with them, deep between the crack in the floorboards and into the abyss that lay beneath.
I spent maybe two years down there. Fingers went into my mouth, down my oesophagus and settled in my stomach, ripping me apart from the inside, pulling at my intestines and wrapping them around my throat. “Look at what you’ve done,” they whispered. Something pulled me by the hair, forcing me to look in the mirror and ripping the stitches at my hairline. “Gaze upon the fruits of your labour.”
What is this thing?
What does it want?
Is it even real?
“Only you know,” it whispers, pulling at my hair, ripping my scalp out of my skull, breaking each stitch and with it, stealing my will to live. Its tendrils forced my mouth open and knotted themselves around my teeth, pulling them out one by one, subjecting me to the revolting taste dripping out my gums.
I woke up on the bathroom floor with blood on the walls and vomit around my mouth. I touched my face, the stitches were still there and so was my hair. I slid my tongue along my teeth and sighed at the relief that they had also stayed. I looked at myself in the mirror and was suddenly filled with an immense sense of disgust towards myself.
“Unmake me,” I begged my reflection, “You made me this way, fix it, please!” The cold, apathetic bitch simply stared at me, not a single hint of emotion on her face up until the moment she shot me a mocking smile that said “You wanted this, begged for it and then killed for it. Now it’s yours.”
There’s no fixing me. I’ll be a stranger to myself and the world for the rest of my life, forever excluded by mankind, only like them in death. Might as well speed up the process.
I poured myself cup of Jason’s finest whiskey, smoked his cigars and stared at my knife. Would I slit my wrists? My jugular? Would I stab my stomach and allow this oil in my body to pour out completely to emerge a new person? Maybe I could just swallow a bunch of pills.
All I want is to be free of this torment, to be able to look at myself and see a human being. I finished the bottle and called the police.
“Hello, I’m at 140 Georgetown Avenue and I’d like to report a crime. My name is [REDACTED], I’ve killed Jason Wise and his girlfriend and I’m going to kill myself.”
Without wasting a second, the operator asked me to describe my surroundings to her in a bored tone, as if this was nothing but a random Thursday afternoon and she’d gotten this same call several times today.
I told her about the green velvet couch, the bloodstained walls, beautiful mahogany furniture and the globe that opens to reveal a collection of expensive alcohol. I knew she was stalling, I could hear her telling her colleagues to send units my way, but I guess it’s in the nature of all living things to want to stay alive for as long as possible.
I told her about my day, my run, my relationship to the couple and how my murder was carefully planned and not just a fit of rage. I told her about the bitch in the mirror, how she’s the one that steals my emotions and makes my fingers sticky, how she ripped apart my insides and then put me back together like it was nothing.
“I believe you, [REDACTED]” she said, “I know the girl in the mirror too, so do the people that are coming to help you.”
I laughed at that, she must really think I’m stupid. “I’m not crazy, I know they’re coming to arrest me.” I sighed, “I’m staying here, I’m tired and I have nowhere to go besides a grave.” I could hear the sirens coming from afar, I had maybe five minutes until they’d come crashing through the door.
I locked myself in the bathroom, the bitch was back and she was laughing now. “Either help, or leave me alone.” I growled at her before grabbing my knife and bringing it closer to my wrist. I noticed just how sharp it was. The edge of the blade was thin and reflecting light in a way that fascinated me. I placed my finger on top of it and it pricked me almost instantly, I didn’t even feel it. That’s a relief I guess, my dead would be painless. She did nothing other than imitate me. My reflection was the last thing I saw before making two deep cuts on my wrists and letting Death welcome me in its cold, inexistent arms.
My unit arrived at the crime scene only two minutes late. In that time, the perp had committed suicide, evading any accountability. The squad and I broke down the bathroom door to find her lying on the bathroom floor with stitches all around her face and layers of mud, grass and rock under them.
“Some way to evade paying for a plastic surgeon,” Mike laughed. I chuckled with him and examined the bathroom for a note, a camera, anything explaining her motive. The walls were covered in blood with drops flowing down to join the large pool beneath Amelia Brown’s corpse. Most likely a fake name. There wasn’t any information about her in any database and no one with her name, face, or prints, had rented an apartment or hotel room in the tri-state area. Whoever she was, she had covered her tracks perfectly.
It took two days to find her second victim’s remains: Jason Wise’s girlfriend, Kendra McLean. She’d been cut into pieces with bite marks covering her entire body. Amelia Brown had most likely killed Kendra in a fit of rage after Jason Wise’s rejection and had gone to his house to try her luck a second time. Following another rejection, she’d killed him, called the police and committed suicide.
The operator, Imani Miller, insisted rage or jealousy wasn’t the reason. That Amelia Brown must’ve had some type of hallucinogenic disorder causing her to behave this way. “Listen to the recording!” she pleaded, “It’s not for nothing that we keep these. She very clearly said she didn’t do this in a fit of jealousy!”
If Imani’s theory had even a spec of credibility to it, Amelia would’ve had extensive documentation, a prescription, or even hospitalisation at some point in their life but that wasn’t the case. I spent an hour completing my report and added my theory to my official statement. Mark appeared behind me as I prepared to leave for the night. “John! We’re going out for beers, join us!”
I nodded, “Sure, just let me send the Jason Wise report and I’ll join you.”
“You’re done with everything already? That case was huge, I thought it would take at least a few days.” Mark exclaimed.
“Of course not, I’m only done with Jason’s,” I chuckled, grabbing my things off my chair, “I’ll get to the girls at some point, it’s not that urgent anyway, they’re all dead.” I grunted as I felt the bag’s weight on my bag. “Come on, dude, I’m thirsty!”
© 2026 C. H. Gökdemir. All rights reserved.
Cece: Unfiltered 
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