“There’s a girl in my mirror, and she’s going to kill me. She’s exactly like me, but the complete opposite. She’s better than me, and a lot smarter, too. There’s only room for one of us on this side of the mirror, and she’s going to win the battle because she’s the stronger one. This is my fate; I can run away from it, or I can accept and come to terms with it. This is truth, not fact,“ the girl said, fiddling with her glass milk bottle. Her father, Terry, who lay on his futon bed staring up at his computer screen, was oblivious to his own daughter’s fear and completely intent on watching the anime show that was playing on the computer.

“Do you know what time it is?” he asked sarcastically. Cynthia put the glass milk bottle down on the banister and started playing with the curtain that acted as the door to her dad’s room, which was a mess. There were bottles of dark orange pee with cloud-like floties on the bottom all over the room’s only window and rocking chair. On the window’s shelf, cigarette ashes littered the window sil and filled the once white carpet along the whole wall. Clothes, both dirty and clean, were spilled over Cynthia’s old bed, and the white plastic dresser was bent so far down because of the junk-filled laundry baskets on top of it that it drooped too far to open or close them anymore. Whatever was in them would stay in them until the day Terry decided to break the dresser open. Cynthia used to live in this room with her father until the day she turned thirteen and her uncle moved out of the house; she took his room.

A click sound came from her room and Cynthia jumped, afraid the sound came from her mirror image. She began to get freaked out, and answered Terry’s question hurridly. “Uh, yeah. Almost 2AM--”

“Exactly. Go to bed.”

“But, Daddy, what about my mirror image? Within the next few years, she’ll get stronger and one day come out of the mirror and kill--”

“Shut up, and go to fucking bed! Why do I always have to yell at you, huh?” The anime was paused and Terry now stared directly at Cynthia, who winced and shrivled up into herself.

“Yes, Daddy,” she said in a small voice and reclusively went back into her room, closing it and locking the door behind her. Her eyes went straight to her window, which was always open, had a bug screen, and was right next to her bed. She could close the blinds and window, but that would make her even more afraid because she couldn’t see if something were outside. But she didn’t know what she was more afraid of: not seeing the thing that might attack her, or seeing it. Whatever it was, Cynthia decided to keep the window and blinds open, like she always did.

She had nights like these before, where she was too afraid to even move, and looking at things which looked too real to be actually real. Sometimes, she was afraid her whole life was being controlled by some outside force, like that movie. But that was too fake to be real.

If that was too fake to be real, why does such an absurd idea as a mirror image coming and killing her seem so real, and so frightening?

She was absolutely terrified of death, and perhaps that is why she was so scared. Not knowing what came after death scared her more than anything, all her fears came to that as it’s root.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.

Her thoughts never changed, and neither did her actions.

She was too imaginative and empathetic for her own good.

What could she do now? Go to bed with the mirror covered, where she could not see if her mirror image came out? Or leave it uncovered and see it coming? What would be more frightening: knowing you going to die within minutes, or not knowing at all? She’d still be awake when she was stabbed, so does it even matter if she knows or not? If she knows, she’ll have such frightening feelings racking her body. If she doesn’t, there will be such shock she’ll probably die of that before the bloodloss.

Why would Cynthia be knifed?

Cynthia has a knife in her room for safety reasons, so, of course, so would her mirror image.

Why can’t Cynthia just remove her knife?

Just because Cynthia takes away her knife, doesn’t mean her mirror image will. Remember, the mirror image is smarter, stronger, and a lot better than Cynthia will ever be. When the two are put up against one another, at this point in time, it is obvious the mirror image will win in any battle whatsoever.

“I’ll not take my time, and try to live a better life than how I have been…” Then she groaned as she fell back on her bed. “Ugh, if only I had known before! I would not have wasted my time like this! I’m such a fool!”

“Cynthia, stop whining and go to fucking bed! … And you better not read or play your DS!” Terry shouted.

“Aw, shucks.” She undressed until she wore only her panties, pushed everything off her bed, and climbed in, her DS and book -- The Phantom of the Opera -- in the blue wooden locker next to her bed. She clapped her hands and the lights went out.

I could die tonight. Do I really want to go to bed with these kinds of thoughts? … Not really…

Abruptly, Cynthia got up and took out the DS, slotting her R4 into slot-1, and Rumble Pak into slot-2, it’s oversized and chunkiness making the small white DS lite look awkward. She turned the volume off and then turned the system on.

She played her DS until the early hours of morning, finally shutting her eyes and game system at 6AM, where she’d need to wake up for summer school in only two hours. She had a test, too.

What a stupid girl.