Colin found a pack of white surgical masks in a sealed plastic container in one of the cupboards under the sink. He washed his hands one more time after removing the lid, and repeated the ritual with the white cloth - this time making sure he covered the empty alcohol bottle in the bin. ‘Sleep tight,’ he said before ripping the plastic wrapper of the masks.
He lit up the room with the familiar blue neon of his watch and strolled down the short passageway, greeting each of the only two framed pictures flanking him on both sides.

‘Evening, Edgar.’ ‘Evening, Colin.’
‘Evening, Sylvia.’ ‘Evening, Colin. And that’s Mrs. Plath to you, you scoundrel!’
At this Colin giggled and shrugged his shoulders, ‘Whatever. Your poetry belongs in the gas oven with that pessimistic little head of yours,’ he said in a tone that suggested he couldn’t give a rat’s ass what Mrs. Sylvia Plath had to say. ‘How dare you?!’ she shouted (in Colin’s shrill voice).
‘Edgar, take care of this one; she’s trouble.’ ‘But of course Master Colin.’
‘You will be rewarded.’ ‘But of course Master Colin,’ Edgar A. Poe hissed (in the same voice Colin had used for Mrs. Plath).
‘And keep it down. I don’t want the neighbours in 1315 to get suspicious.’ ‘But of course Master Colin.’
‘Is that all you can say?! You two sure are a team!’ Mrs. S. Plath shouted.
‘But of course Mrs. Plath,’ replied Edgar.
‘Good night now; you two have fun. It’s about time you get to know each other a little better. God knows, you’ve been staring at each other for the last two weeks. Nighty-night.’

Colin felt through his pocket for the last of his tissues and quickly flicked the bathroom switch with his elbow. He shut the door, and squeezed the piece of tissue around the handle so that he would be able to reuse it. ‘I don’t usually do this. You know you belong in that cesspool,” he said to the tissue and pointed at the toilet. ‘You are very lucky. Enjoy your last moments before the bacteria get you.’

He hooked the elastic bands around his ears and looked at himself in the mirror. His mouth moved up and down under the mask, ‘Hello, handsome.’
He repeated this phrase a few times, each time in a different voice. ‘Hello, handsome.’

With the plastic wrapping of the mask still clutched in one hand, he opened the bathroom cupboard door above the basin and took out a toothbrush holder. He held it away from his face as if it was about to explode, and when it opened with a soft ‘click’, two felt tip pens did a little dance in the basin. Colin’s wheezing playing a waltz. ‘Beautiful, you two,’ he hummed.

He placed the plastic wrapper on the edge of the basin and put the mask on top of it. Then, closing his eyes, he touched the piece of tissue on the door handle and held it up, slowly turning while surveying the bathroom. ‘Pink tissue and brown bathroom tiles. Who would have thought?! Great match. I’ll keep that in mind when I rent my next apartment. Pink and brown. As old Sylvia said earlier, you two sure are a team. She’s always had a way with words.’
Making sure not to get any residue in his lungs (or anywhere on his body), Colin opened the tap and ripped the paper in half, his body in the usual ‘reclining’ position. ‘Die, dirt-gatherer.’

He removed the cap of the black pen and threw it on the floor. The heel of his sneaker came down hard and crushed it. He held the pen with the soggy tissue and lifted his one eyebrow, ‘Concentrate, Burrell. No more tissues left.”

He drew a mouth on the mask; first sketching a light outline, and then colouring the lips with the dry tip of the red. ‘Very good. Looks just like Edgar’s. Now for the nose - not too much, just a bit of shading.’
With the other piece of tissue he took out a plaster, already opened a few hours earlier - and stuck it over the ‘nose’. He closed the cupboard and held the mask up next his face. He didn’t smile. ‘No need for teeth where you’re going tonight, Burrell.’

‘Now for the worst part.’ He put the mask on. His hands shook like a cold tractor as he attached the fake beard and moustache. ‘They’re eating me! They’re eating me alive!’ He scrubbed his hands with a new bar of soap, eyes closed, ‘Thankyouthankyouthankyou, soon, they won’t eat me anymore. Very soon, they’ll be all gone.’