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September 25, 2012
He moulted, all the time. 

A scratch of the head, and long hairs would curl around his fingers to be brushed on to the floor. Rubbing his nose, small flakes of skin would shed. Teasing at his jeans, wispy threads would fall away, leaving a trail of blue fluff.

He was afraid that, one day, he would just fade away. Every little part of him would just melt off, skin dripping, bones crumbling, mind slipping, just slipping away.

This was why he wrapped himself in cling-film. To make sure he kept all of his parts together.