chapter  8
Mirrors and masks
WithJanet Rhys Dent
Pages 6

As I looked at it, it was no longer my arm, no longer even a part of my body. Instead it had turned into a skin-covered, ashy-pink cylinder that just happened to be lying next to my body. I was desperate to make contact with it. I gathered a handful of the white cotton sheet in my left hand and, eyes shut, passed it across the fingers of my right hand. Was there any sensation? No, I could feel nothing. The cotton sheet was brushing my fingers but my fingers were blind to the cool, coarse texture.