Mirror, Mirror
13 Dec 2020Today’s prompt: “Describe a person you see every day.”
The face in the mirror is the same as your own. Same nose. Same cheekbones. Same eyes. Same chin. The face is ringed by the same color and texture of hair.
Everything the same, except for the deep scar swooping from just above the upper lip to the outside corner of the eye.
You can feel alarm setting into your expression, but you do not see it in your reflection. Instead, a sneer spreads across the face in the mirror.
Your reflection’s shoulder and elbow move backward, and its hand balls into a fist. Your own arms have not moved, though you can feel all your muscles tensing to flee. The mirror hand shoots forward. Glass breaks toward you, and you shield your face with your hands. A hand grabs your collar and yanks you toward the mirror. The mirror shatters as your body is forcefully pulled into it. Through it. You feel shards of mirror gouging you, and then you hit the ground. A fist hits you again and again, and you stop moving.
You look up. It’s pitch black, except for a light shining through a jagged hole above you. You can feel blood dribbling from your chest, your arms, your forehead. You’re dizzy, but you can just see your doppelgänger climbing up and out through the jagged hole, leaving you behind in the darkness to bleed out.