The Other Side of the Mirror



Half asleep, I thrust out my hand, knocked the alarm clock onto the sock-laden carpet and helped myself up.

0600 What an unearthly hour.

My body moved mindlessly - in the shower, out, clothes on, and tie. The routine was embedded in my muscle memory - until the tie. This part I resented. In front of the mirror I stood, knotting and un-knotting my wretched, noose-like cloth. And then I saw it. It was me, but not me. My dense, pitchy hair; my knife-edge nose; my teddy-bear eyes. But it wasn't me. Some undetectable, forensic detail that set us apart. Me and him.

My hands froze by my sides, and his rose to his neck. He violently tugged at the shorter end of the tie. That wretched noose-like cloth. I gasped for air- precious, precious air. Tighter and tighter was the tie - my body, however, too paralysed to act. My hands were still frozen by my sides. How useless they were, slaves to this fiendish plot. His eyes shrivelled up, wrinkles crawled across his forehead, and his lips stiffened. A proper villain now.

Is this what I looked like? With a grin of malice, he kept tugging. I kept dying.


0700 What an unearthly hour.

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