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We've Got A Big Mess On Our Hands
The mirror is my enemy. Well, not the mirror really. The mirror is the home to my enemy. You see, my reflection is my enemy. It's annoying, and it really doesn't help my headaches. Mr. Reflection is the reason why I invest in cameras instead of shiny glass, why I take a bat to everything that glitters. Mr. Reflection is the reason why I don't like getting up in the mornings, why I hate holidays because my mother always buys me new mirrors. Why does she buy me mirrors? Why can't she get me something useful, like a new TV or a pair of socks?
Every Christmas, every birthday, every freaking Easter-seriously, who gives gifts on Easter?-I have to cover those mirrors, or smash them, which is much more satisfying. But every holiday I have to face Reflection, and every time I see him my head aches like a hurricane.
"Can I come out and play?" he asks, big doe eyes staring into mine, and what am I supposed to say? I can never resist those eyes, which is really weird because their my own eyes. Wait, no. Is that me? No. It can't be. Can it? Yes. It's my reflection. But that doesn't mean it's me. I'm never that annoying, that scandalous. Could I be? Yes. Would I be? No.
"N-no," I say, and he pouts, lower lip stuck out. I narrow my eyes, sweat pouring down my back. Don't give in don't give in don't give in-
"Aw, but William," he whines, reaching a hand out, pressing against the glass, and he looks so helpless. I could let him out, just for a few hours, let him stretch his legs a bit. He gets so cramped in there, in that world of glass-NO. Don't let him out. He'll only cause trouble. Remember the last time he escaped? Yeah. Jail isn't fun, William. Jail is not fun.
"S-stay in there," I command, but it's pretty weak to even be considered an order, and I know he knows that there's nothing I can do. I'll let him out no matter what.
"William..." he says, cat-like, his grin slow and easy, and I sigh.
"F-fine," I give in, "but d-don't cause any trouble, please? The landlady already wants my throat."
"I bet she does." Reflection winks as he steps out of the glass, stretching his muscles. He smiles at me. "See you around, Bill," he says, and there's a sort of whooshing noise, like a superhero flying, and my reflection's out the window.
I sit on the floor and sigh. I hate mirrors.