Stop pretending

Kelly pulls her laptop screen down.

Shutting down the pink glow from the web page.

She glances in the mirror,

But she doesn’t recognise her face-

Like someone else is watching her from the glass.

Her reflection wasn’t moving.

Kelly blinked- once, twice.

But the girl in the glass… didn’t.

She stared.

Eyes wide open.

Glaring into Kelly’s soul.

Then slowly, deliberately, the reflection raised its hand.

Not to wave.

But to order.

It ordered Kelly to write something in the condensation of her mirror.

A single phrase:

“Still think it’s your voice?”

Kelly staggered back.

Not far.

Just enough for doubt to slip in.

She reached up- mechanically, stupidly- like her arm wasn’t cooperating. Her body was echoing what the mirror wanted. Her fingertip hovered near the glass, tracing the letters the reflection had no right to know.

S

T

O

P

But the reflection kept writing too.

Just below the shaky, scrawly letters in condensation.

P

R

E

T

E

N

D

I

N

G

Kelly’s hand dropped.

The message was complete.

STOP

PRETENDING.

And in the reflection’s eyes, something shimmered, 

Not fear.

Not pain.

Recognition.

Like someone finally came to claim their face.

A new day:

Kelly rose from her bed.

She wasn’t rested.

She was contemplating all night: was it all a dream?

No.

The fingerprints were still stamped on her mirror.

Stop pretending.

STOP PRETENDING.

She forgot to wash her face last night.

Too distracted by her clone. Reflection. Her.

Kelly opens her drawer full of makeup wipes.

She hadn’t opened it for months- she never had to peel off the layer impression she only had to rinse it off.

Waves of makeup wipes.

Kelly grabbed one.

Turned it over and brought it to her face.

But it was damaged.

Not used.

Stained.

With the words:

Too soft. Too loud. Too much.

Printed in pink lip gloss- shimmering in the light.

“What?”

Kelly dropped the wipe like it was freezing her.

It flutters to the floor, face down.

It’s hiding.

She looked at the drawer again.

All of the makeup wipes.

Stacked, warped, crumpled up. They’ve been handled.

She pulls out another.

Same thing.

Same lip gloss.

Different message:

Not enough.

She stuttered.

The drawer she never opened.

Feeding her pink enigmas.

Corrupting her.

Makeup wipes were supposed to clean you- rid you.

But all they’re doing is revealing her.

Another version:

They like the version of you that doesn’t talk back.

Kelly stands there. Frozen.

Still holding her breath.

Not talking.

She’s afraid the reflection will finish her sentence.

Behind her, the mirror hums in silence.

She turns slowly.

 Her reflection isn’t crying- but she is.

A tear ripples down her cheek- carrying pink mascara with it.

But it doesn’t show in the mirror.

“You’re not me.”

The girl in the glass tilts her head and smiles.

She mouths:

“Aren’t I?”

In school:

There’s a hooded figure, leaning against the lockers. Standing still. Kelly blinks; and she's gone. Yet their faint lavender scent remains.

 Someone nearby says “Lila's weird like that.”

But Kelly had other things to pay attention to.

She walks down the halls, hoodie up, mascara still smugged.

She hasn’t slept.

She hasn’t spoken.

She hasn’t looked in another mirror.

Then- footsteps.

Lila.

Alone.

Moving like a shadow didn’t need a body.

Always in the hallways. Never in class.

They brush shoulders.

Kelly flinched.

Lila didn’t.

She barely turns her head and says quietly, sweetly, like a secret bent around porcelain lips

“Be careful around mirrors… They remember more than you do”

Kelly stops.

Turns.

But Lila vanished,

Like a fading breath on cold glass.

And for a second- Kelly thought-

“Was she talking to me?”

Or the thing behind me.