Alz

My name is Arthur Whitmore. I am eighty-one years old. This is my house. These are my people.

Every morning, someone comes in. They know your name. They know where you keep your pills. And you have to decide who they are, because faces never hold. Whenever someone leaves your sight, or you blink, they come back with a different face. Sometimes you watch it happen: the eyes change first, then the new skin spreads out from them.

Alz is a short first-person psychological drama about dementia, seen from inside. You can't trust faces, so you learn to trust what stays: Eleanor's burgundy shawl, Claire's lavender sweater and her locket, Daniel's blue tie and the way he calls you "Father". You keep a journal, because you won't remember. You take your pills, because they help you see a little more clearly. And on Wednesday night, while Eleanor is away, someone knocks at the front door and says he's your son.