Chapter 2
Chapter Two
My paints are laid out perfectly next to the mirror, plants staged in the background just so, a throw blanket tossed over the end of the couch to look totally natural, and all of the books on my shelf behind the mirror are color-coded to match the paints.
Gotta love social media, everything has to look perfect yet natural, casual yet classy.
What my followers don’t see is the pile of dirty clothes right out of frame, the too-ripe bananas on the counter, and a mess of coffee-flavored drink cans next to them.
I line up my phone’s camera for a well-lit shot.
I snap about a dozen pictures and upload them to my editing app to sharpen everything up a bit and remove my reflection from the mirror.
I polish off the last of my second glass of wine and head to the kitchen to pour another.
I’ve had a wild day, to say the least. Luca being a fuck nugget, the weird old lady at the weird old shop, being out of my favorite cup noodles, and the fact that I didn’t even get to share with anyone the huge news I got today.
When I lift the wine bottle, I almost fling it across the room.
I expected it to be significantly heavier, but I guess I’ve drunk more than I thought I had in the past few weeks.
It’s probably for the best that it’s empty, anyway.
I grab a cold water from the fridge instead and check the status of my uploads, which are finishing up.
I lean against the counter and open one of the better-lit photos and start blurring the background slightly, enough to make it look a bit whimsical.
I add some little, wispy graphics and zoom in on the mirror to take my reflection out.
My brain feels a bit fuzzy when I notice something strange.
I’m not in the picture. My reflection isn’t there, and it absolutely should be, given I was standing directly in front of it.
I close out the app and open my gallery, scrolling to the picture in its unedited form.
What the fuck? I’m also not in the original image.
Before I can get too involved in trying to figure out what happened, I hear an ear-splitting yowl, followed by a heavy thud, shattering, and then complete silence.
I sprint around the counter to check on Wallace, my two-year-old cat.
The terrible twos doesn’t only apply to toddlers, it turns out.
He’s flying around the corner at the same time I am, though, and that results in a very clumsy near-collision.
I jump over him as he skids around the counter and loses his footing on the linoleum, skittering away to hide in the bathtub.
“Wallace, what the fuck, man?” I groan when I see the state of my once-perfect, beautiful mirror.
One of the snakes has broken off the frame, a million pieces are shattered on my floor, and a web of cracks creeps from the side of what’s left intact.
I feel defeated. I was so excited about the vision for this piece that I forgot to make sure it was secure before leaving it unattended with my cat, who was clearly born in the depths of hell.
I lift the frame cautiously to assess the damage and make sure that there’s no worse than what I can see right off hand.
As my fingertips graze the metal, the pieces that shattered begin to float upward, hovering around me.
The light from my floor lamp shines through them, causing prismatic rainbows to explode in my living room.
I feel panic starting to rise, and I reach out to try to grab some of the shards and put them back.
The mirror, now upright again, shows my reflection.
I don’t look alarmed. I don’t look like there are hundreds of pieces of glass hovering waist high to me right now.
I’m assuming I am way more inebriated than I believe I am, because even though I’m moving, my reflection isn’t.
I lift an arm and wave at myself like I’m trying to get someone's attention.
My reflection waves back, and for a moment, I feel relieved.
That feeling doesn’t last long. When my reflection’s arm lifts and extends a hand towards me, I find myself gravitating towards it.
I tentatively reach my hand out, too, and the minute our fingers touch, I’m not met with cold glass.
I’m met with a ripple in the glass, the temperature and appearance of it similar to a nice, hot bath.
As the ripples begin to get bigger, my stomach drops.
I can feel my fingers touching my reflection’s fingers, which may be the weirdest fucking sentence I’ve ever said.
They’re cold and feel wrong, like they’re not made out of the same skin mine are.
Before I know it, the grin on my reflection has grown menacing, and her hand moves from touching our fingers together to wrapping around my wrist and jerking me towards her.
I’m falling. I don’t feel like I’m falling, exactly, but I am definitely moving in a direction that I wasn’t before.
As I’m going, I see flashes reflected in the storm of shards that has followed me.
The colors are bright and vivid, almost a pop art style, but quickly change to actual images.
I see a throne room, its floor covered in broken glass with hundreds of empty frames hanging from the ceiling and on the walls.
I see a gorgeous black crown with moss agate stones in it lying on a pile of thick moss.
I see… I see my own eyes now, thousands of exact copies of them, surrounding me, staring at me, and I get lightheaded.
I try as hard as I can to stay alert, to cry for help, but the only thing I’m met with is a silence so loud that it causes my eardrums to hurt. I can’t stop my eyes as they close.