Mirror Image
As the faint light trickling in through the distantly cracked doorway is slowly swallowed by my increasingly towering shadow, the flashlight in my left hand is a growingly reassuring presence. Perhaps it’s the idea that if something jumped out of the gaping, formidable darkness, I might be able to fend it off with light, or even with the weight of the flashlight itself. Or maybe it’s just that—as soon as my eyes adjust—I am once again able to identify the objects on the towering shelves that surround me. The cool metal settles reassuringly in my grip, as I tilt the beam back and forth, allowing it to illuminate the rows of dusty items surrounding me.
The light catches on something, a bright spike flashing back at me, and I flinch, bringing my hands back to my face. In doing so, the flashlight’s beam jerks away, and the reflection is again engulfed by the dark. I slowly pull my hands back, allowing my eyes to once again find the single uncovered corner of the mirror that had caused my distress. I slowly approach, pointing the light carefully at the burlap covering so as to avoid any unintentional glare before I can reach out and yank the covering away.
Under closer scrutiny, the mirror itself is surprisingly ordinary, small engravings worked into the surface by time. I can see my reflection within: flashlight pointed mostly at the ground in my loosening grip, posture leaning back slightly as my eyes fix intently on themselves. Without looking, I pull a coin from my pocket, flipping it and turning it over in my palm before presenting it to the mirror. Identical heads face each other.
“Here goes,” I mutter to myself, the words louder than I intended in the enclosed space. “Left.”
I point slowly to the left, turning my hand to face my outstretched finger. Slowly, anticipation on my breath, I look back at the mirror to see myself pointing in the opposite direction. I grin. The flashlight clatters out of our outstretched hands, spiraling to the ground.
The light catches on something, a bright spike flashing back at me, and I flinch, bringing my hands back to my face. In doing so, the flashlight’s beam jerks away, and the reflection is again engulfed by the dark. I slowly pull my hands back, allowing my eyes to once again find the single uncovered corner of the mirror that had caused my distress. I slowly approach, pointing the light carefully at the burlap covering so as to avoid any unintentional glare before I can reach out and yank the covering away.
Under closer scrutiny, the mirror itself is surprisingly ordinary, small engravings worked into the surface by time. I can see my reflection within: flashlight pointed mostly at the ground in my loosening grip, posture leaning back slightly as my eyes fix intently on themselves. Without looking, I pull a coin from my pocket, flipping it and turning it over in my palm before presenting it to the mirror. Identical heads face each other.
“Here goes,” I mutter to myself, the words louder than I intended in the enclosed space. “Left.”
I point slowly to the left, turning my hand to face my outstretched finger. Slowly, anticipation on my breath, I look back at the mirror to see myself pointing in the opposite direction. I grin. The flashlight clatters out of our outstretched hands, spiraling to the ground.
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