the mirror

I don’t know what’s going on.

When it happened for the first time, I wasn’t worried. I went about my day. I paid it no mind.

When it happened for the second time, I was curious. I’d never believed dreams could have meaning; not until now at least. I brushed it off as a strange coincidence and moved on.

When it happened for the third time, I was annoyed. I was used to nightmares, yes, but this no longer felt like a nightmare. It felt like a message.

A warning.

When it happened for the fourth time, I could no longer ignore it. “Dreams have no meaning,” I reminded myself. But once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, thrice is a pattern, and four times?

Four times was quite something.

By the fifth time, I had already started avoiding the mirror. I didn’t want to admit it because it was so stupid, but I was worried.

When a week had passed of the same routine; the mirror, the cold sweat, the anxiety, I simply couldn’t ignore it anymore.

I’d stopped using any mirrors at all, not only the one from the dream. It was silly, to say the least. just a made up situation my sleepy brain created at night.

But my fear was real.

By now, I don’t know how much time has passed. Since I woke up at 6:66 am, the time hasn’t changed. I can’t call the police, or anyone for that matter. I’ve tried messaging my friends. The messages don’t go through. Either it crashes, or there’s an error.

This was a last resort.

I think it’s angry at me. The face kept distorting more and more with each dream.

I hope that tjis is a dream too. But when I pinch myself, it hurts.

Maybe while hiding here, I’ll hear my alarm and focus really hard and I’ll be back.

If anyone recognizes me as your friend or something, just say your goodbyes. I don’t know, maybe your messages will get through.

I don’t want it hurting anyone else.

And if anyone else has these nightmares; even if it’s just once, make sure y












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