Spitting Image

I make a point of staring straight into my own eyes, behind which I believe to be their eyes. It seems like a weird time for such a big reveal, but I’ve always counted on the element of surprise. Before they can recover from the shock, I pick up the little rubbish bin next to the toilet and I smash it against the mirror. Tiny versions of me fly all the way across the floor. The bin has broken through the mirror, of course, and it’s lying in a dark room behind my very own bathroom. I’m hit by a profound sense of violation: I’m possessed by a violence I don’t recognise as I scramble across the sink and into the dark room. There’s nobody here. Except… I turn around and the hole where the back of the mirror used to be is closing behind me. By the time I can do anything I’m trapped. I see through the back of the mirror the spitting image of me mouthing these words as she stares straight into my eyes: “I know you’re watching me”.

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