“The object on your left just turned into the object on your right. Write 250 or a 25 line poem about your reaction.”
The Mirror
I’m at my desk, obsessively proofreading, like any other morning. I notice I’ve accidentally used ‘their’ instead of ‘they’re’. Hell and damn. I guess that’s what you get for writing half asleep. I reach for my mouse to eradicate this grammatical travesty, instead coffee sloshes on my hand.
“Huh.” It’s a surprised sort of sound.
I’d lost track of my surroundings. I glance down, admonishing myself to be more careful, and my stomach drops. Everything on my desk is reserved. Not just out of place. A mirror image of what I’d sat down to. I’m breathing faster, feeling panicky nervous sweat between my shoulder blades. I want to act, but I’m momentarily frozen. What do you even do in this situation?
Then I start to calm down. Obviously I call 911 because clearly I’m having a stroke. Or maybe the day job finally caused that nervous breakdown I’m always joking about, haha. I get up slowly. The cat perched on the back of my chair is white with pink eyes. My breathing picks up again. Not hyperventilating, but damned close.
Then I see her.
In the mirror hanging on the wall opposite my writing desk there is another me, sitting in my chair with everything looking the way it should. She glances over her shoulder and meet’s my eyes. For a moment blue meets blue, then hers flash dangerous red. Through the glass I can make out the sounds of my family coming downstairs.
She smiles.
I see her teeth.
Demons Run Press 
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