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disrupted the thin film of freshly knit skin without noticing – when I removed the soiled bandages so that I could replace them with fresh ones, my skin came off with them in sheets. Up until that point, I had no real clue to the extent of the burn; the skin was pulling off, making wet Velcro sounds as I unwound myself.
    Surveying myself more carefully, my skin continued shedding, and I could see sinew and muscle which had tenderized since the hospital, purple hues which faded to the point where I wasn’t sure if I was seeing abstract layers of epidermis, glands or fennel pockets of fat, or simply shadows cast by my lamp.
    As I turned to assess the damage, reconciling the fact that this horrible event was taking place without being able to register an inkling of pain, the marks that looked like fat seemed to transform, and if I pinched the skin around my love–handle, everything seemed entirely transparent. I initially thought that the holographic imager was malfunctioning.
    The whole time, dissected pommels of bone glistened with streaks of red, old horn lumped with yellow lipids, and dark red sinew stretched over an exposed segment of ribs. I frantically rewound the bandages back into place and added a layer of fresh ones. The only other thing I could think to do was call emergency paramedics. Hemorrhaging liters of oxygen more than I could spare, the blood ominously pooled around my feet, and the room spun away from me. My lower torso soaked through, and a giant paintbrush strip of red below my dresser abided me to the bed. And as I pressed the last strip of rust colored gauze back into place, I realized that I was in a very dismal state. The room finally lurched to the side, and I fell to the floor beside my bed, pulling a substantial amount of blanket with me as I tried to catch myself. The fresh gauze bounced on the floor and unrolled itself underneath the bed like a red carpet. I choked with panic. As the world began to slip away, I tried pressing the blanket into my chest to staunch the flow of blood. I looked around the room for something – anything – that could offer any sort of option, and then–
    –I saw myself standing at the holo–mirror, inspecting the three dimensional image of himself. It was as if I were looking back in time a few moments, as if reality were replaying itself, and the other me was unwinding his bandages, fumbling toward the horror that I just experienced.
    “Wait,” the words gurgled in my throat. “Don’t–”
    But I didn’t hear myself.
    I could see the whole moment play out again, just as it had a minute before.
    “Wait,” I choked, “Call the paramedics–”
    I still wasn’t paying any attention to myself. My face froze, looking at my third projection in the holo–mirror, as the exposed muscle writhed and twitched. “Listen to me!”
    But the other me carefully continued removing the bandages, and as he turned around, the burn on his chest was almost completely healed – there was no exposed muscle. No blood. No pus.
    I clutched at my own chest, which was torn in ragged patches – the light gradually dimmed, and I knew that I was going to die.
    The other me carefully picked up the roll of gauze and returned to the mirror, where he wrapped himself back up again.
    The room continued to darken, and the other me walked out of view toward the bathroom, completely oblivious to the wasted husk of himself that was bleeding to death beside the bed–
    3.
    –I pushed myself away from the bathroom faucet. Water spiraled into focus and then slipped down the drain, and I watched this happen through a refracted lens of memory. I studied my face in the mirror, and its reflection wore a mask of utter terror and confusion. Flinging the damp towel into the washtub, I frantically ripped the fresh bandages away from my chest, waiting to see once again the torn, shredded remains of that horrible wound, but it was fine – gnarled, pink, new scar–tissue tipped with white callous –