Thanks to The Daily Post!

I’ve always wondered where our reflection came from. Some think our refelection is there to protect us, or stop us from going to the other world. I stopped wondering when I looked in the mirror and no one was there.

I can’t describe what it’s like to not see yourself in the mirror. It’s one of the only places you are sure to see yourself. Once that assurance is gone, do we really know what we look like? Something red was smeared in the bottom corner of the mirror. I thought it was on mine, but when I touched it, my fingers went through. The surface ripled slightly when my finger went through. It felt like I was poking through the surface of a cool stream. When if pulled it back through, whatever was red on the other side came back on my finger.

I touched my finger and thumb together and it was sticky. I tried to smell it, but the smell of copper flooded my nose, blocking everything else. Definitely blood. I wonder what happened to my reflection. I push my hand through the surface of the mirror. It ripples, then something pulls me through. I land on the sink and then the floor. There’s blood everywhere. The heads of my father and mother are hanging from the shower curtain pole.

“The fuck?”

“Is that the best you can do?”

“What? Who’s there?”

“I’m you, idiot.” We say as I refocus back on myself. The blood is in my bathroom. Blood is smeared across my face and dripping from my hands. I stare at myself in the mirror. It was me. I killed my parents. “What have I done?”

2 thoughts on “Glass

    1. Because mirrors are a type of glass and I debated on doing the parallel universe way where my other self then kills me, then goes into my world to impersonate me and wreak havoc, but I chose the psychological way in that I killed my parents and I was the crazy one all along.

      Liked by 1 person

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