Your future is trying to save you. Are you listening?

I was brushing my teeth when my phone buzzed.

No number.
Just one word on the screen:

> "RUN."



Then another.

> "He's coming. Don't trust your reflection."



I laughed. Thought it was spam.
Tossed the phone on the bed.

Then my reflection blinked.

And I didn't.


---

I froze.
Stared at the mirror.
My face looked normal… but wrong. Like I was being copied by someone who didn’t quite understand being human.

I stepped back.
My reflection didn’t.

> That's when I knew it wasn't me.



And then the phone buzzed again.

> "DO NOT LOOK AWAY. HE MOVES WHEN YOU BLINK."



My blood turned cold.


---

This wasn’t a prank.

My phone vibrated nonstop, a stream of alerts:

"He’s feeding on memories."

"He knows your past better than you."

"If you forget your first kiss, he takes your voice."

"If you forget your mother's name, he takes your face."


My knees buckled. I grabbed the phone, screaming:

"WHO ARE YOU???"

The reply came instantly:

> "I'm YOU. Ten minutes from now. You're already dead."




---

I ran to the door.

Locked.

Every window? Nailed shut.

My own house had turned into a prison.

And then — the lights went out.

In the black silence, I heard the reflection whispering:

> "You've forgotten something already, haven't you?"




---

I woke up gasping on the floor.
My phone screen was cracked.
The time was 10 minutes behind.

I checked the mirror.

My reflection smiled before I did.


---

Now I wear no mirrors. No glass.
I speak my mother's name every morning.
I keep a journal so I don't forget my past.
Because he's still waiting. In that reflection. In every reflection.
Feeding on lost memories. And wearing my face.

And every day… I get another message.
One word.

> "RUN."




---

I moved into a cabin in the woods. Off-grid. No tech. No mirrors. Just paper and pencils.

I keep my memories written, not digital — he corrupts digital signals. He uses them to mimic your voice, your face. I burned my laptop. Smashed my phone with a rock.

But it didn’t help.

He came back in puddles.

In spoons.

In window reflections.

Each time more confident. Smiling longer. Speaking louder.

He doesn't need tech. He just needs you to forget.


---

Loop 1: I remembered everything. I survived three days.
Loop 2: I forgot my first dog’s name. I woke up with a mouth that wasn’t mine.
Loop 3: I forgot my father’s laugh. I screamed all night. But the voice wasn’t mine.
Loop 4: I didn’t forget. He waited.

He learns patience. He feeds off gaps.

The smaller the memory, the deeper he gets.

And the worst part?

He's in everyone now.


---

I saw a woman in the store scream at her own reflection in a freezer door.
A boy in the park kicked his shadow for “talking back.”

We’re all infected.

But no one remembers why.

And those of us who do remember... don’t last long.

Because eventually, you forget something.

And that’s all he needs.


---

I think he was human once.
Some version of me from a ruined future, trying to anchor himself in the past.

But time broke him.

And now he just wants to replace the rest of us.

One forgotten thought at a time.


---

He’s clever now.

Not loud. Not violent. Just… waiting.

Last week, I caught my reflection blinking three seconds after I did.

Yesterday, I heard a laugh from behind the closet mirror — and it sounded exactly like my mother. But she's been gone for years.

I sometimes find sticky notes in my own handwriting saying things I never wrote:

“Don’t blink too long.”

“He likes 3:33 a.m.”

“Stop thinking about him — he hears it.”


But the scariest one?

It was stuck to the inside of my mirror.

It read:

> “Thanks for the memories.”




---

Last night, I looked in the mirror for the first time in weeks.

He didn’t move. He just mouthed a word:

> "Soon."




---

I don't sleep anymore. I don't dream.

Because if I do...

I'll forget something.

And then he'll win.


---

💀 Welcome to James World
Where your mind is the battlefield and memory is your only weapon.

If this story made you glance at your reflection, hesitate by your screen, or question your own face...

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