Thomas remembered when he was young, he would always be sent to get
the groceries from the shop up the road, before he went his dad, who
always sat in his chair listening to the radio, would call him over and
say; "Just go there and back, don't go off, you know the way like the
back of your hand, keep to it."
He always remembered that, and often in times gone by in his life when
he wandered off the beaten track and found himself lost, he had only to
think; get back on route, come on, you know it like the back of your
hand. But now he found himself really lost, he sat and stared at the
back of his hands and didn't recognise what he saw, "it is though these
hands of mine have been subject to the new fashion of plastic surgery"
he thought, "and my skin, mole, hairs and scars have all been removed.
And it their place, something ethereal and unfathomable." Thomas sighed
and tried focus.
His dad's words had served his dad well and that was great for him, but
for Thomas knowing his hands, well, just didn't seem enough.