It's only when I get to the door and look at myself in the mirror, that I realise I've forgotten to put my face on. I chide myself: Silly me. What would people think if they saw me out in the street like that?

I run up the stairs to my bedroom and open the drawers of the dresser. I rummage frantically through the detritus that has accumulated there - bottles, boxes and tubs - all the things that make me feel human, until I find the jar. Holding it up to the light, I shake the jar to check its contents and sigh with relief. There it is!

The jar is large: about the size of a pickling jar. It is filled with a clear fluid and what looks like a crumpled side of bacon. I shake the jar again, and a handkerchief-sized oval of flesh unfurls. Yes. That is my face.

As my face unfolds, it winks an eye and mouths something at me. I don't know what it is saying. Even if I could hear it through the walls of the jar, my face only has lips. It has no tongue or throat to shape the sounds of speech. But, I can guess that it isn't being polite. So, I put the jar down on the dressing table and unscrew the lid before reaching into the cold fluid. It's a curious sensation, feeling my own face in my hands. It is leathery, but smooth and soft; still slippery from the fluid it has been kept in.

I catch sight of the clock in the mirror. It takes me a second to decipher the reversed numerals. There is no time to waste - not if I want to make it to work on time! I take my face in both hands and press it to my skull, smoothing out the wrinkles and chasing the bubbles away. Then I look in the mirror to check my appearance. My face smiles, frowns and grimaces, showing off the emotions I might need for the day. Then it winks at me. We're ready to go.

I run downstairs, slamming the front door behind me, and set off for work.