by Zoé Mahfouz
I couldn't understand why my face was at that café. That subway station. That sightseeing spot. That museum.
I refused to believe it was an accurate representation of me. I would have never touched that fridge. That ramp. That bush. That guest book.
A snowball hits the back of my head. I almost lose my balance. When I turn around, no one confesses. Because there is no one. The broken snowball on the ground lets out a piece of blue. I touch the blue. The blue is paper. The paper is me.
My legs start running. I believe I need to hide. I go to this capsule toy arcade where the whiteness of the walls gives you a headache. A human-sized Pikachu is walking through the aisles. I hear a voice shouting from the back:
"That's her!"
When I turn around, no one pays any attention to me. But a capsule toy bumps against my foot. I feel compelled to open it. Inside is me again.
A salaryman suddenly hits one of the capsule toy machines with his fists. Repeatedly. He shouts at it:
"Let me out! Please, let me out!"
The human-sized Pikachu shoves the salaryman's face into a wet dish towel. The salaryman goes to sleep.
I call the police. I tell them what happened. They tell me there is a way out. An easy one. I'm listening.
"The cartilage."
"I'm sorry?"
"A dorsal augmentation, with or without tip augmentation. It's always about the tip."
"I'm not sure I'm quite following..."
"Your nose. It can be diced."
I hang up the phone. The capsule toy machines are whispering. I need to leave this place.
When I step outside, a crowd has filled the street. They are all staring at the sky. A plane passes by. It drops thousands of flyers. Flyers of me. People catch them in silence, then scatter as if nothing happened.
The street empties.
I want to cry. I want to shout. I want to hit someone. But it's not socially acceptable.
So I go to the nearest ATM. I withdraw everything. That should be enough to go missing.
Zoé Mahfouz is an award-winning French actress, screenwriter, and writer. Her work has appeared in over 80 journals, including DIAGRAM and North Dakota Quarterly. She is the author of ADHD in D Minor (North Meridian Press, 2026) and two poetry chapbooks.
