Jason stood before the mirror, razor in hand, and couldn’t get past the idea he was stealing another man’s life.  Sure, that man was himself, but that didn’t make it easier.  Somewhere in the multiverse, the Jason that belonged here was having to adjust to another life—one that might not be as appealing as this one.

Patches of scar tissue—gnarled and twisted, though few in number—peeked through the shaving cream on his face.  It had taken a long time to get used to shaving such a topography, but after nearly a year of practice he almost never nicked himself anymore.  At least no hair grew in those areas for him to remove.  If it had, he would have just grown a beard and called it a day.

“Are you going to stand there all day, or can I ge...

Please subscribe to keep reading.