WILLIAM J. OTREMSKY’S: NARCISSUS

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Darkness at the edges, first—and then it lightens to become blue, slowly, as light grows in intensity.

There’s a pause, maybe long enough for you to take a breath (or two, if you’re lucky)—and the light crashes in around you, stunning you into a panicked freeze.

A moment of disorientation, then—you’re trying to understand what’s going on around you. Quickly, now! No time to waste.

Your eyes adjust slowly to the unfamiliar brightness—you’re crouched on what you assume to be the ground. You’re on guard. You can’t yet tell where you are, or what’s around you. You can’t seem to make sense of what your senses are telling you. It frightens you.

As you finally begin to realize there’s nothing around to harm you, you simultaneously realize that there’s nothing around you. Your surroundings seem sterile. Inhuman.

You become aware of a cool surface pressing against your knees and your palms. It feels—nice, almost, but it’s unnatural, and the feel is disconcerting. It puts you on edge.

But curiosity has its own demands.

You look down, and your breath stops.

Eyes are staring back at you, wide and frightened. Your mind is spinning and it feels like your body is turning itself inside out. You can’t make out what’s running through your mind. You’re drawing a blank.

You swallow, dry, and the other figure mimics you.

You push off the ground and sit back on your heels, completely bewildered as the other figure copies you exactly, down to the indrawn breath of surprise and the dumbstruck expression.

You reach out, then—slowly. Hesitant, unsure as to what you’re going to meet. There’s only a shadow of the initial shock when you reach out and touch the other hand. You meet the smooth surface, and spread your fingers across it.

You’re beginning to think, now—

Is that--?

And then, that dangerous word, that singular concept: Is that…me?

You startle yourself a little bit with the thought, and snatch your hands back. The person below you, looking equally disconcerted, becomes more significant, somehow. You look down at your hands, flesh and blood, and then place them squarely against the floor below you.

And you stare.

There is a rustling behind you, and an indrawn breath—and you’re curious, you want to see what’s going on, and you begin to turn, but get distracted when you catch sight of the wall across from you, made of the same reflective surfaces you seem to be crouched on.

You stand and don’t count the steps. You see that yes, there is another person there in the room with you—male, similarly preoccupied. He is sitting, twisted around to see behind him. His weight is leaning on one hand pressed flat against the floor.

He can’t tear his eyes away.

You take all this in during your own perusal of your features. You watch the way your hair bristles in its high ponytail. You study the different colors. You turn your body this way and that, observing the way the shadows fall across your musculature.

You put your hands against the wall, and cock your head—just so.

And you stare. You’re enraptured with your own quizzical expression.

Can that really be me?

You’re amazed. You can’t imagine that there’s something so lovely, as you let your hands trace your own outline on the wall. The light changes, slightly, and you think you can see your skeleton, just a little bit.

The change in light becomes more prominent. There’s a creak—you have the mental image of a door swinging open. The room feels violated, suddenly—

You recognize beyond that door what you’re familiar with as the natural world.

The door is open, and inviting.

“Just a minute,” you mumble—and you’re awestruck by the subtle movements in your throat, by the delicate way your mouth moves when you speak.

And you stare.

You don’t notice when the door closes.

Your palms are flat against the wall, and you’re studying your eyes, now.

This is me.

You’ve never imagined something so wonderful.

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Author's Note: this story is dedicated to William J. Otremsky's art exhibit, the "Narcissus Series," which was put on display at my college a few months ago. I guess it left an impression?