Original // One-shot // léiriú
Genres: magical realism, introspection, sci-fi
Wordcount: 799
Summary: If you could talk to your reflection, would you?
Notes: WRitten for the week #72 prompt at themusecafe, "mirror."
léiriú
Since the first time someone beheld their own face in the still waters of a lake, since the first slab of obsidian was polished to a reflective shine, since mirrors as a species gained their first name, there have been stories about the worlds beyond them.
I know, because I did a lot of research after my reflection talked to me for the first time.
There are a lot of stories about that, too. In most of them, your alter ego is unsettling, somehow wrong, often outright evil. Mine isn't. Much as I hate to admit it, he's probably a better person than I am. Happier, too.
At least he isn't better-looking. That would really sting.
My name is Tyler. I'm not sure what his name is. We have the same face, and the same hair, and the same taste in clothes, but that's not really a guarantee. He might be named, like… Derek. Or Brad. Or something. I guess I should ask him next time I go to shave.
I'm twenty-seven years old. To be honest, I'm way too young to know what I know. Maybe some twenty-seven-year-olds, wise beyond their years, could handle it without going crazy. I'm just barely wise enough that I've only gone half crazy. Mostly I'm just depressed.
I think most of the stories make the reflected world out to be awful because the alternative is worse.
The first conversation I had with him was not very coherent. We were both really startled, obviously. I'm still not sure why I get to talk to my reflection when most people don't seem to have any idea that the face in the mirror isn't them. (At least, for most people it isn't. The mirror world isn't exactly the same, though, so some people are dead there who aren't here, and vice versa, so some people have reflections that are really just their own reflections. Some. And sometimes, one's doppelganger just isn't at the mirror at the same time as you are, which happens less often than you might think.)
Is there something special about me? Or about him? Did the stars align just right? Were we sitting on a ley-line? I honestly don't have the faintest clue.
I'm not complaining, though. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a confidant who really understands them, the way only someone who is almost you can. Though to be honest, it's hard to confide in him sometimes, because of the jealousy.
See, the thing is, the world on the other side of most mirrors? It's beautiful. Relatively. They tell stories there, too, about the realms beyond the glass, and in their stories our world is hell. And in comparison, they're right.
There isn't much different about it, except that the mean average of humanity's evilness is a few percentage points lower. Atrocities still happen, but not as often, and in general random acts of kindness equal or surpass the number of random acts of douchebaggery. The sky is a little bit bluer. The grass is a little bit greener. Everything is just a little bit kinder, and it makes such a huge difference.
It's not that I begrudge him his good luck, exactly. Given the chance, I wouldn't drag him down into my world. I just wish - a lot, really hard - that he could pull me through into his.
I think he would, if he could. Like I said, he's a nice guy. Nicer than me, anyway.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd been, like, a NASA scientist or something. When he talked to me that first time, what would I have done differently? I might have put my whole mind to figuring out how it all worked, and gotten obsessed with searching for a way through into that gentler world. I might have spent my whole life trying to break down a door that didn't exist.
Maybe it's a good thing I'm an economics major instead.
I wonder what my doppelganger does. Is he a student, too? Or does he already have a job? Or a degree, and experience in looking for jobs and not landing any? Or, god forbid, an actual flourishing career? Now I'm afraid to ask.
It could be like looking at myself as I could have been. Let me tell you, that's not something I've ever wished for. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't make me want to better myself and reach for the sky. I think it would just make me feel like a failure. Inferior to my own self. Doesn't that sound miserable? I think so.
But if you're feeling brave or lonely or beyond caring - or all three - try talking to your reflection. Maybe it'll answer you.
After that… it's up to you guys.
Good luck, I guess.
Wordcount: 799
Summary: If you could talk to your reflection, would you?
Notes: WRitten for the week #72 prompt at themusecafe, "mirror."
léiriú
Since the first time someone beheld their own face in the still waters of a lake, since the first slab of obsidian was polished to a reflective shine, since mirrors as a species gained their first name, there have been stories about the worlds beyond them.
I know, because I did a lot of research after my reflection talked to me for the first time.
There are a lot of stories about that, too. In most of them, your alter ego is unsettling, somehow wrong, often outright evil. Mine isn't. Much as I hate to admit it, he's probably a better person than I am. Happier, too.
At least he isn't better-looking. That would really sting.
My name is Tyler. I'm not sure what his name is. We have the same face, and the same hair, and the same taste in clothes, but that's not really a guarantee. He might be named, like… Derek. Or Brad. Or something. I guess I should ask him next time I go to shave.
I'm twenty-seven years old. To be honest, I'm way too young to know what I know. Maybe some twenty-seven-year-olds, wise beyond their years, could handle it without going crazy. I'm just barely wise enough that I've only gone half crazy. Mostly I'm just depressed.
I think most of the stories make the reflected world out to be awful because the alternative is worse.
The first conversation I had with him was not very coherent. We were both really startled, obviously. I'm still not sure why I get to talk to my reflection when most people don't seem to have any idea that the face in the mirror isn't them. (At least, for most people it isn't. The mirror world isn't exactly the same, though, so some people are dead there who aren't here, and vice versa, so some people have reflections that are really just their own reflections. Some. And sometimes, one's doppelganger just isn't at the mirror at the same time as you are, which happens less often than you might think.)
Is there something special about me? Or about him? Did the stars align just right? Were we sitting on a ley-line? I honestly don't have the faintest clue.
I'm not complaining, though. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a confidant who really understands them, the way only someone who is almost you can. Though to be honest, it's hard to confide in him sometimes, because of the jealousy.
See, the thing is, the world on the other side of most mirrors? It's beautiful. Relatively. They tell stories there, too, about the realms beyond the glass, and in their stories our world is hell. And in comparison, they're right.
There isn't much different about it, except that the mean average of humanity's evilness is a few percentage points lower. Atrocities still happen, but not as often, and in general random acts of kindness equal or surpass the number of random acts of douchebaggery. The sky is a little bit bluer. The grass is a little bit greener. Everything is just a little bit kinder, and it makes such a huge difference.
It's not that I begrudge him his good luck, exactly. Given the chance, I wouldn't drag him down into my world. I just wish - a lot, really hard - that he could pull me through into his.
I think he would, if he could. Like I said, he's a nice guy. Nicer than me, anyway.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd been, like, a NASA scientist or something. When he talked to me that first time, what would I have done differently? I might have put my whole mind to figuring out how it all worked, and gotten obsessed with searching for a way through into that gentler world. I might have spent my whole life trying to break down a door that didn't exist.
Maybe it's a good thing I'm an economics major instead.
I wonder what my doppelganger does. Is he a student, too? Or does he already have a job? Or a degree, and experience in looking for jobs and not landing any? Or, god forbid, an actual flourishing career? Now I'm afraid to ask.
It could be like looking at myself as I could have been. Let me tell you, that's not something I've ever wished for. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't make me want to better myself and reach for the sky. I think it would just make me feel like a failure. Inferior to my own self. Doesn't that sound miserable? I think so.
But if you're feeling brave or lonely or beyond caring - or all three - try talking to your reflection. Maybe it'll answer you.
After that… it's up to you guys.
Good luck, I guess.