There is a picture of you committing a crime on the morning news. It doesn’t make sense. You remember falling asleep last night....

You stand in the kitchen and stare at the TV. You are gripping that coffee cup tight, and you grip it a little tighter. That’s real, at least. You look at it as though seeing it for the first time. It’s not your favourite mug- it’s got a picture of bear hugging a husky, some misjudged gift from an old girlfriend. The coffee is fresh, lava hot but you knock it back like it’s a shot. That’s a real thing too.

Christ. That was me. That was really me.

You wonder whether you’ve been pranked, some highly sophisticated set up for the cameras, with body doubles and photoshopping.

Fuck, they even got my run right. I always knew I ran funny.

You have a sudden impulse to just walk- to do your funny run- out on the street, to stand in front of the TV store and point at the synchronised screens and yell, ‘That’s me! Can you believe it? Yes- I know! I’ve seen it too- wow."

You control the impulse, lean back against the kitchen table, feel the wood press into your thighs. You breathe deeply: In through the nose, and out through the mouth. In through the nose and out through the mouth.

You have another look around your apartment, walk over to the mirror. You stick your tongue out like you did at the doctors as a kid, pull down your lower eyelids like how they check for jaundice. What was it you saw on TV once? What did they call it?

A fugue state. Yes. I was higher fugued. Deep, deep in fugue.

You feel fine though. Your mind feels clear, clearer than it has for years. You know what you have to do. Head for the country. Lie low for a couple of months, maybe move back to another town when things have passed. You pack a bag, just the essentials- flashlight, sleeping bag, matches, some ramen and candy if you need to rough it in the woods for a week or two.

You realise that you need to get to your car. You need to get down your corridor. You need to get through your building and along your street to the lot. You look out of your apartment window, at the pedestrians, fresh from their homes and now striding to work. You can almost see the last item on the news, your immortal thirty seconds, sitting fresh in their minds. Or even worse, playing on their phones as they shuffle along or sit at the bus stop. How do I get past them?

You need a disguise. You frantically search through your apartment. You tear through closets and cupboards. Nothing is any good. Pull the hat down low? Turn a collar up? Just a shout for attention; shifty looking weirdo coming though!

Ah. An idea. A cold little stone of insight.

You find your nephew’s werewolf mask buried deep in the bottom of the closet, leftover from Halloween months ago. It’s not a good fit- your nephew is eight, and you reckon small for his age- but if you squint you can kind of see through one of the eyes and down a nostril. Your niece’s fairy wings fit even worse.

At the front door, a deep breath. Jeans, work boots, plaid shirt. Check. Rucksack in left hand, door handle in right. Check. Werewolf mask. Fairy wings. Check.

You stride down the street. Some people see you; their eyes widen, and then grin and raise an eyebrow at their friends. Some even nod at you, like you were an old acquaintance. Most don’t even see you. They are in a hurry. They have things to do, jobs to attend, phones to stare at. You make it to the lot and your car. Your hand is shaking as you find your key, bleep it open and fall thankfully into the seat.

As you pull out into the road, and slide into the line of morning traffic, your mind is already ahead of you on those long quiet country roads. You glance into the car next to you. A kid in the back seat sees you, and you realise you’re still wearing the mask. His eyes open wide in terror, and through the glass you see him start yelling, a mime act of pure fear, and then his mother turns around in her seat and starts yelling at the kid. The kid keeps looking at you through his hands, his eyes wet with tears.

You shake your head, and pull away.

Kid- you think you’re having a tough morning?