Short Story 4 - Mirror Images

She couldn’t shake this feeling. An uncomfortable feeling of being followed. She’d turn swiftly but, as usual, no one there. She must have been imagining it. It wouldn’t be the first time this day she thought she heard someone. 

However, nothing appeared. Was it only in her head? 

This particular day had already been special in a not so special way.

Her regular daily routine always started the same. Never a single deviation. She woke up bright and early, washed her face with cold water, and went over to her building gym. Her favorite part of the morning was her run. The perfect time to clear her mind. Truly zen. 

A quick and efficient workout later, she’d make herself a fruit and granola breakfast, shower, and off she went. Two hours of the day already down! 

Her first stop along the commute was the little cafe a block away from the train station. The line was always large but the coffee - worth it. They had her favorite condensed milk latte, the best one in the city if she did say so herself. But the line would be too long sometimes. And she was punctual, being late for work was rarely an option. So an occasional compromise was required and she would just stop at the Starbucks next to her office building instead. Morning coffee was an absolute must, it was the first step to getting into her productive mood. 

She approached the entrance to her side of the floor. Good morning everyone! She smiled as she walked in. Always positive. Polite. Some of her coworkers loved her for the upbeat attitude. Others just rolled their eyes a bit. But mostly people were nice enough to her. She did her job well. Always neat and well organized. She attended all the meetings, made sure to provide input. Took on more than she should have just to keep the team going. She was hardworking and everyone knew that. Her manager would love to grab lunch or coffee together and they’d gossip about all the drama in the department. Engagements, flings, kids, getting fired, you name it. They were a big corporation, lots of news going around. She would bring work home quite often: go the extra mile. A couple more months and she would definitely get that promotion! VP, she could finally be a VP in her department. An aspiration of hers since she started in the company. 

On the way back home, she would always stop by the grocery store to get a few fresh items for dinner. She preferred to cook, her meals carefully planned out for the week. Then as all evenings go, she’d usually either grab a beer with friends, work more, or watch some Netflix before bed. And that’s a wrap folks! Every day. The same. Over and over again. She was happy with it, why wouldn’t she be? She was so grateful for everything she had achieved, she had come so far! 

Yet, there was one part of the routine she neglected to acknowledge. Or admit, rather. A very regular, weekly part of it. That moment of weakness before going to bed. Looking around herself, thinking about what she was doing, who she wanted to be. The reality that was surrounding her. The routine. And the tears would come. It was one at first, she’d wipe it off quickly. Then the waterworks would start flowing. It was impossible to stop the flow of emotions. Tear after tear went as she drowned in her own helplessness. Why am I crying??? She berated herself. Everything was fine. More than fine, it was great! But the feeling of drowning would go nowhere. It simply abated for some time. The tears would offer release. A sense of calmness which lasted her for a few days. And during the next week, it would all come bubbling back up to the surface again. This has been going on for a year now. She so far, has refused to acknowledge it as an important matter. 

So back to this particular day. The cycle broke. Something went wrong. She woke up unhappy. Late. No morning workout. No breakfast. She just lay in bed angrily, snoozing her alarm. Fuck, I’ll be late she thought as she got up half hour before work. She didn’t really seem to care though. Her first stop was the favorite coffee shop, extra shot of espresso today. The entire time walking over she felt uneasy. Like someone, a presence maybe, was scrutinizing her. People must’ve thought she was a lunatic with the frequency she kept glancing over her shoulder. 

At work she barely spoke to anyone. Went straight to her desk, staring blankly at her laptop for most of the day. Barely got any work done, every time she opened anything, she felt angrier. Like the work itself had offended her somehow. Her boss came by to say hello but quickly left. No one wanted to deal with her obvious moodiness. Towards the end of the day she sent an email, need to take the rest of the week off. She just knew she couldn’t deal with work on top of everything going on her head. Without waiting for a response, she packed up and left. The work laptop stayed on her desk this time. The consequences didn’t matter much. 

It was on the walk back that she felt the presence again. Much stronger this time, there was definitely somebody behind her. Deciding to keep her calm, she turned down a different path. Walk a few blocks, ambush the stalker. She readied herself by clutching her handbag tighter, not much of a weapon but it would hopefully at least faze the person. As she heard the steps closer, she made a sudden stop and turned around while swinging her handbag in full force. 

A loud noise. Fallen person. A very sharp pain in her head. She cried out from shock and pain as she crumpled to the ground herself. What in the world, she knew she hit someone, and it should not have been her own self! As she opened her eyes to glance at her victim, she froze. It couldn’t be. No. No no no no no. No. Her breathing accelerated. The figure, the fallen person. 

It was… Her? 

Same clothes. 

Same hair pulled up in a ponytail. 

Same everything, really.

Except the head. Her clone had a bloody head from the blow she struck it. But now that she thought about it, the same wound was most likely on her own head. She just struck herself (?) down. 

Did she wake herself, or rather, her clone, up? Did she just run away? Running away didn’t seem right. She even tried slapping herself back into her senses but all she felt was more pain in her already most likely concussed head. 

Her clone did start twitching though. It did not seem to be breathing, but it was indeed very much alive. Had color, definitely not a ghost or zombie. It even had blood! It (or she?) twitched its face a little bit and slowly began opening its eyes.

Those.

Weren’t.

Her.

Eyes.

Holes.

Sockets? 

No. Just dark, empty, soulless holes. 

This wasn’t her, this was some sort of twisted replica. A puppet! How did it even come to be…. and it found her? 

The puppet just turned its head in her general direction and grinned. There were tears on its face. And they didn’t seem to be caused by the blow. The redness in the eyelids, the black circles, they reminded her of the reflection she saw in the mirror after she cried. The figure was so… sad. She couldn’t bear to look at it. She jumped to her feet quickly and ran. 

She knew the figure would follow. It was her sadness, misery and failure all in one. Everything that was wrong and she refused to acknowledge. The death of her happiness and potential. The dark puppet that she herself had become. As she felt it approaching she thought about all of the memories she worked so hard to suppress. The internal fights, the cigarette butts hidden away in the corner of her balcony, the empty bottles of whiskey from lonely nights of wallowing in self pity. All of the destructive habits she had buried and lied to herself about. 

A big rock lay by her side. 

As the puppet creeped up behind her, she sighed, turned around and hit it with the said rock. Full force. Over and over again. Each blow striking her painfully. The pain growing exponentially. Blood in her eyes. She persevered for a few minutes until collapsing. 

She did not know for how long she was out. Her senses of time and space seemed long lost in the haze. The puppet lay next to her. Motionless. The longer she stared at it, the less it seemed to look like her. It grew uglier under her gaze. Beaten. Broken. 

It must have been very late. The beach was completely empty. The surroundings, barely visible. She could only hear the loud beating of the waves against the shore. 

Grabbing the figure by its bloody head, she dragged it towards the sound of the waves, tripping over herself a few times along the way. The puppet was heavy. It weighed her down in every way possible. She grit her teeth as she kept pushing forward. 

Soon she was ankle deep in the ocean water, its frigid cold awakening her further. Walking in deeper, she dragged the figure fully in. And with a final, strong shove, she pushed it into the water. It slowly floated out of her sight. 

Bodies are simple to identify in the water. They usually wash up. Definitely do not decompose fast enough. 

This one would not come back though. It had served its purpose. 

And as she started on her walk back, she knew one thing for certain: neither would she.

Her path had only just begun.