The Face
John Looked again. The face staying back at him wasn't his. He closed his eyes tightly, scrunching his child's face up in a pained expression, and then letting go. For a second he held the rightness around his eyes, before finally releasing them — knowing full well what would be looking — or rather peering back at him from the shadows of the silvery stream. For a second there was nothing, just a watery vibration; dispelling all shape and resolution. Then it was there again — The Face. John...