.doppelganger.

She wishes she could in be in a world where she is perfect, and too slender, with luminous pale skin that even the moon will envy. She wants to smell like lilacs and dance around in the forest, barefooted, twirling about like a little girl with no worries.

She wants no worries.

Life’s unsavory habit of bedraggling an individual to their worst emotional depths has gotten to her. She’s been tugged down to the deep blues of society’s rainbow spectrum, where the outcasts dwell in their imaginary, sepia-toned world.

(where all is well, only because it’s about to end soon.)

She’s thought of ‘leaving the earth’ before, but she knows she is far too cowardly for such a thing. She’s much too attached to the artifacts and individuals which have manifested themselves comfortably in the deep recesses of her heart. She cannot forsake the dull, overbearing monotony that has become life.

So she dreams. An unhealthy amount.

Her mother says she’s killing herself with all this starving, with this boycott against bodily rest.

And she thinks, well, if this is dying, then people are far too paranoid. It’s a bubble of stifling enigma, something which forces her outlook on the world to be bleak and unfocused. Dying is an aura which sucks out all the color from life and creates peaceful, pastel shades on the other side of the mortal wall.

She’s wandered to the park, at this time. She called her father to tell her mother that she wouldn’t be home for dinner (again) that she was going out for a walk because she went out to eat during lunch (she didn’t) and she fancied that they wouldn’t buy her lie but she also knew that allowing her to revel in her self-induced-pity was their most satisfactory option.

So she walked, and walked. The pathway was empty, and the air silent, save for the pitter-patter of her Keds. Her jacket was open so the sporadic breeze could embrace her suffering body, her immaculate raven tresses lay tumbling about her shoulders, providing them with a sorry excuse for warmth.

It is cold, her mind stated. It is cold, her soul stated.

It is cold, too cold for us to handle, her body shouted.

Her feet, which had steadily followed the path, now took her astray, off the path and into the thick chaos that was formed by the towering trees.

Her eyes were closed, and weakly, pathetically, she collapsed against the nearest oak, her barely existent behind pierced by several acorns the squirrels had prejudiced themselves against.

Her physical hunger and exhaustion took hold of her, but it was her mental exertion and frustration that took hold of the chance and pulled her across to the other world.

(and, oh, what a marvelous world it was.)

She was sure she was looking into a mirror. There she was, standing a few feet from herself, her chapped lips dropped open in a mixture of awe and terror. But there was something distinctly different about her. For one, she was barefoot and wearing a dress, and she seemed to radiate an aura of optimism and a carefree nature.

And then she realized that she was still wearing her jacket, and shoes, and not a dress. And she did not shine through the bleak atmosphere of the mortal struggle like this perfect individual did.

Nor was her mouth now moving in realization of something horrible.

But she felt her eyes widen as the startling new predicament was solved.

She was looking at somebody else. An imposter, somebody who knew her darkest thoughts and was impersonating her dream self.

“You…” her voice croaked out, weak and hoarse.

“You…” her mocker replied, in a voice so lovely a nightingale would have been shamed.

“Stop it! Whoever you are, stop it right now!” she was hysteric now, the full shock of the situation dawning on her.

“No! You stop it! Who are you and what are you doing here?” Her imposter’s face was exceedingly lovely, the epitome of all that she desired to be. Pure, attractive and perfect.

“Stop it! I’m me!”

“No, I’m me! Go back where you came from!”

She looked about her wildly. No escape route shone itself brightly as a beacon of safety. Her bony fingers snatched at the dehydrated skin of her arm and pinched as hard as they could. Her body jolted upright from the pain.

This was real. This was not a dream.

“What’s going on?” She was so terrified she could have cried.

“Stop it, don’t do this to me. What do you want?”

She felt the anguish that her mimicker felt, a horror so deep, the marrow within her bones shuddered.

This was not supposed to be happening. This was not physically possible.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

Her panic was giving way to wrath, exhaustion fueling the fire.

Her mocker did not reveal.

“Who are you?” she retorted, fury equally matched. But whereas her actual person did nothing to improve the imagery of that deadly sin, her double was as beautiful and dangerous as the goddess Pele.

Her pride won over her awe.

“I’m warning you.” Her eyes narrowed, nearly yellow teeth bared.

“How dare you…” Their was an elegance to her quavering voice, a tone that bespoke of unrecognized power.

Blinded by her anger, only one thought flitted through her shell-shocked conscience.

(i am not allowed by nature to be perfect.)

And by God, this ethereal monstrosity that claimed she was herself needed to be destroyed.

She lunged, like a desperate lioness, no traces of elegance in her violence, but to the kindest onlooker, a sort of savage beauty was imbued in the determined rigidity of her fingers, aimed straight at the wonderful face of the alien.

Said alien fell with a cry on the ground, our animalistic heroine’s dehydrated hands clawing at that perfect hair.

“Get off of me!” she shrieked. “Help, somebody help!”

“Shut up you imposter! Get me out of this world!”

They struggled, the two images of each other, in vain, for their strengths (very little) were equally matched.

Above, the sky darkened swiftly. A chilling breeze whipped the branches of the trees to and fro. And through a discreet opening in the thick foliage, a dark, enthrallingly dark, figure emerged.

“End your petty behavior.”

The two froze and whirled about in terror to witness the new, frightening development.

He was wreathed in black, from head to toe, his face hidden in a hood, only far too typical of the demonic arch villain.

The earth seemed to shudder with revulsion, the crawling worms and scuttling bugs that lived in the dirt, the microscopic bacteria that wandered about Gaia, all seemed to stop moving, stop breathing, stop living with the appearance of this…character.

She got up off of her mocker, unconsciously helping her up as well, clinging to her double in absolute fright.

Her double was clinging back.

It seemed to the two that although they could not see his face, amusement laced his next word:

“Doppelganger.”

They looked at each other and emitted identical screams.

For they were each other, ill met by mortal sunset.

He pulled a colossal scythe, apparently out of thin air, and with one sweep, both her halves were gone.

Nothing was known after that. Her parents were awash with grief, unable to continue on with their lives for two months. Her friends and school prayed for her reappearance.

Some individuals, who would have a monthly late night rendezvous in the park, reported cases to their pastors and religious officials of two girls, dancing with the devil in the trees under the moonlight.

But they could only hear one girl laughing.