The alarm clock goes off. The insecent beeping makes its way even through my pillow. With a loud groan, I roll over and slam my fist into the top of the clock. This does nothing but hurt my hand and send the alarm clock crashing to the floor. It seems to get louder, just to spite me. Mumbling curses under my breath, I get up out of bed and silence the alarm clock.

“Take that,” I grumble to my empty bedroom. It remains silent in reproach.

I stagger to the closet, pulling out a random t-shirt and jeans. My usual, everyday attire. Stumble downstair, make breakfast, feed my fish. Stumble upstairs again, brush teeth, apply makeup. The same routine that I’ve done since the history of ever.

As I grab my purse and keys I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Looking back at me is a very put together person. Someone who knows where her life is going. It gives me confidence as I dash out the door, almost late for work again.

The alarm clock goes off. The usual fight ensues before I get up. Get dressed, make breakfast, feed fish, brush teeth, apply makeup. The mirror reflects me, same as it does every day. Every day.

I wake up to my alarm clock.

I was just here.

I must have fallen back asleep and dreamed I got ready. That happens to people, right?

Dress, breakfast, fish, teeth, makeup. I’m almost out the door before I see myself in the mirror. A hair escaped my updo. I tuck it back in, shaking myself slightly to break my mirror-staring reverie. I hesitate before leaving. Something about the morning had shaken me up, knocked me off axis. But life waits for no one. With a deep breath I start the walk to work.

The next morning the alarm clock goes off.

The alarm clock goes off.

The alarm clock goes off.

The alarm clock goes off.

Every day, the alarm clock goes off.

I can’t remember what day of the week it is.

I can’t remember who the person in the mirror is.

Then.

My alarm clock doesn’t go off. I wake up well past dawn. I can’t hear the usual city noises. It seems the city is also confused. Unsure, I walk across the room to my closet. I can hear every footstep on the creaky hardwood floors. I tug my clothes on, so distracted I forget to take my pj’s off before putting on my jeans. My toast gets burnt in the toaster, and my fish gulp unhappily at the lack of food. I trip on my way up the stairs. I fall without a sound.

I wake up in a forest. Wary, I stay crouched on the ground. Something about the forest is familiar, though I can’t quite place my finger on it. Then I see it. The mirror. I slowly look around. The tree underneath me is my closet door, barely recognizable. It’s stained and most of the paint has chipped off. Next to me is a hollowed-out stone that once was my bathroom sink. A log that was once a bed post. And a mess of eroded metal that once was my alarm clock.

The sun flashes, bright and sharp in my eyes. The mirror catches my attention again. Although slightly tiled in the dirt, it seems to be the only thing intact. It’s edges are still etched in gold. There isn’t an imperfection in the glass. I approach with caution, as one might approach a sleeping beast. I’m not exactly sure why my sense are going off, telling me to run, get out. But I’m transfixed and continue to make my way to the mirror.

And my reflection stares back at me.

A demon stares back at me.

One of my demons.

I should be scared. I should be terrified. But instead there is a deep sense of rightness in me. A deep sense that this is where I’m meant to be.

The demon reaches through the mirror. I only hesitate before taking her hand in mine. She pulls me through.

Because in seeing the forest I learned something. Something my old refection was hiding from me.

My monotiny was hell.

My demon was leading me out.