The Reflection That Isn’t Me

The Reflection That Isn’t Me

I realized for the first time on Tuesday that I didn't have a problem. Convulsions in the mirror above the sink - a small delay - I choked it down with bad sleep. Maybe I blink late; my brain did the trick. But it happened again.

And again. Until Friday, my reflexes were always second behind. I'd smile and it would hesit. I lift my hand and it'll stay behind - a bit, but enough to know that something is wrong.

"You're just tired," Mama said. She didn't notice that my reflection hadn't moved as I turned around. It was always staring at me.

I'm back tonight.

I waved. That shook.

I raised my arms. Next.

Then I was silent - and it smiled.

I didn't do that.

My breath got caught in my throat. I turned around, and the reflection was still, but it was a little too big, as if the skin was being pulled by what I wanted.

I knocked on the bathroom door and didn't go back until the morning.

It escalated immediately.

All mirrors in the house became nightmares.

The corridor showed me a step half behind me. My bedroom dressing was shown to me when I was in bed. The worst was the bathroom - it seemed like a reflection that was my mirror.

I covered them all up until Sunday.

towels, bed linen, everything I can find.

But I heard them change in the night. The sound of soft, dry fabric slides onto the glass. The next morning, I found the mirror. A

reflex was waiting for me.

On Monday, it wrote something.

Steam stuck to my shower in the bathroom mirror. As usual, I avoided looking, but something drew my eyes into the glass.

Five words followed in the mist:

let me in. Only once.

I deleted it with a trembling hand. It reappeared after

seconds, but this time it became even clearer.

Please put me in. Only once.

That night, I dreamt of the glass that broke it. From the hand pushing the inside of the mirror. I cried behind the surface and stared at me from my own face.

I started skipping school. I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't sleep. The bags under my eyes have become darker and deeper. My parents thought I was sick. Maybe I was.

Then, on Wednesday evening, he finally said.

I sat on the bed, looking at the covered mirror. The house was silent. I heard the weakest tick, like a claw on top of a glass.

Then I whispered, so soft; maybe that was my imagination. "Please leave me."

I stood and slapped my heart.

"You're not the real thing," I whispered.

I laughed.

Not loud - no, the noise was in my head. I'm familiar with it... it's distorted and wrong, as if I'm listening to my voice from an old video.

"You've already let go of me." "When I realized."

On Thursday, I couldn't hold back anymore.

Grasp a hammer from the garage. If you break the mirror, it may stop.

I started in the hallway - broken glass like ice. Then the bedroom flies - everywhere. I was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, a hammer shaking at my handle.

My reflection smiled calmly.

"If you break this, he says: "I'm free."

I hesitated.

"It doesn't work that way," I whispered.

But what if there is that?

If it didn't break, was it a real trap?

I raised the hammer--and moved first. The reflex raised his hand before I did it. The hammer on his handle hits the inside of the glass.

Spider web cracks spread outward. The mirror pulsed. The air was cold. I cried out, dropped my hammer and stumbled. The mirror was completely again.

My reflection smirked, blood dripping from her forehead.

"You're almost finished."

Tonight, I finished the door, turned off the lights and remained winding under the ceiling. I didn't sleep. I was just waiting in the morning.

But when the sun appeared, it was wrong.

Everything outside was frozen. My room was weak and colorless. The leaves were hard and almost unrealistic. I reached for my phone - no signal. There's no time.

I looked up.

My mirror was discovered.

And the sky. No reflections.

Then I heard a whisper behind me:

"Thank you."

I turned around.

And I saw myself laughing there, but I wasn't. His eyes were dented. His smile is too big. It leaned closer and whispered:

"You can rest now."

Everything was black.

I woke up in the mirror.

is not particularly phorical. I woke up in the mirror.

I cried, but there was no sound. Only my doppelgangers - now outside - adjust my climbing, clothes and putty when I leave my room. You now live in the real world.

I live behind the glass.

Sometimes, I hit it. When someone comes, I try to make words. My parents don't notice it. My friends say I look healthier. happiness.

, but they are not close enough.

If you've ever seen a moving mirror a little later... don't stare too long.

Because as soon as you know you can see them -

you can go outside.