Words to include: Move, Mirror, Lock
I can’t move, and yet, I am moving. The girl on the other side of the mirror stares at me, making me move to her whims. She twitches her eye and I feel an involuntary twinge. The muscle moving without me telling it to. I feel locked in, trapped in this girl’s body. She stares back at me, daring me to make a move, but we just sit, caught in a stalemate. She is me, I recognise her, and yet she can’t be me. She smiles so wryly, so cheekily. Someone so openly playful could not be me, and yet she still stares back, mimicking.
She winks at me, but I don’t feel the familiar muscular twinge. I must be imagining things, and then she raises her finger to her lips, a distinct ‘shh’ emanating from the mirror.
“AH!” I scream as I jump back, but she just smiles, trying to hold back a laugh. She’s me, and yet not me. She’s so much, brighter, happier almost. But there’s a stranger in her eyes, a naive innocence the smile heightens so brilliantly, it’s intoxicating. She beckons me forward with a pull of her finger and I follow, transfixed by the girl who could be me, if I just let her be…
She waves goodbye to me, so cheerily, I can’t help but think of better times, times when she was me, when I was still bright and shiny. I sit there, still, transfixed as she skips away, her hair bouncing and flying as she goes, moving into the form of those pigtails we always used to wear.