The world had become a strange and difficult place to live. Everywhere I went, I was watched. Not by people, but by my reflection. Every surface I walked by was a window into my soul, and every reflection I saw was a reminder of who I was and what I had done. It started as a minor annoyance; I’d pass a mirror or a window and my reflection would give me a knowing look. It was almost like the reflection was aware of the secrets I kept and the mistakes I’d made.
I tried to ignore it, but the more I did, the more it seemed to follow me.
Soon, the reflections began to show signs of life. They’d move their eyes, blink, and sometimes even move their lips as if they were trying to communicate something to me. It was unnerving, to say the least. I tried to talk to them, but they wouldn’t respond. I tried to ignore them, but they kept appearing in every mirror and window I passed.
One night, I awoke to find my reflection standing in my bedroom, watching me. He was the spitting image of me. I was so startled I just stood there, unblinking and unmoving. After what felt like hours I eventually tried to run, but it followed.
As I run down my neighborhood street, looking back over my shoulder at the figure was no use. Every time I see a streetlight pole, pass by a car, or a puddle forming by the storm drains, he catches up to me.
I eventually ended up in an alley, my reflection still in pursuit. I was exhausted and terrified, so I decided to confront it almost as a last resort, a glimmer of hope to end this nightmare. I asked it what it wanted from me and it just stared at me with a cold, emotionless gaze. I asked it why it was following me and it replied in a voice that sounded eerily like my own, “You know why I have come for you.”
The reflection suddenly changed. Its eyes became black and its mouth twisted into a sinister smile. At that moment, I knew this was real. I tried to run, but it was too fast. It grabbed me and held me in a vice-like grip, applying an even and breathtaking pressure to each side of my throat. I struggled and screamed, but it was no use. It dragged me back to my home and to my bedroom where it pinned me to the bed. I was sure I was going to die.
It spoke to me in a deep, raspy voice, “You have been running from me for too long. Now it’s time for you to pay the price of your deeds.” I was too scared to speak, so I just lay there, paralyzed with fear. The reflection reached out and touched my face. Its cold, clammy hands sent shivers down my spine. I closed my eyes and prepared for the worst.
“It was only an accident.” I pleaded with the demon I have created by running from my mistakes.
The reflection now standing in front of me lets out a cackle that rings in my ears. “You ran. You ran away. You are a coward and you will always be a coward. When it is time, you will die a coward’s death.”
My spitting image snarls its lip and before I can say another word, it was gone.
It was gone, but it is never truly gone. It is with me every day. Every day of my life since the whole thing turned upside down. It never does get easier after another life is taken by your hands. As much as I wish I could, I can’t avoid getting behind the wheel every day, but when I do; in the rearview mirror, my reflection watches in anger, shame, and guilt.