Six sat in the mirror looking at himself. "I'm going to kill myself," he whispered to his reflection. He grabbed at his face and pulled it. The skin mushed around in his grip. He yanked at his cheeks. His waif-like body was emaciated from too much living. He never ate, hardly showered, and never went out of the house without make-up. He looked down at his body and pronounced, "The container of myself is not myself—this flesh." On the sink in front of him was a knife. There was a knock at the door.
"Yo, dood! What's up?" Skin asked.
Six paused. He waited. He looked deeper into the mirror. The PCP had caused his eyes to grow large. He looked deeper. Another pound at the door followed by another shout, "Dood! Yo! What's up?" Six grabbed the knife from the sink and placed the end of the switchblade next to his stomach. Six pushed the button of the switchblade and heard the pop. He felt the blade sear his flesh. Behind him the door opened. Six screamed.