by Alex Salinas
I woke up and went to the bathroom. I’d been dreading it.
“You look like hell,” my mirror-self said. He looked exactly like me except for his eyes: two jet-black marbles.
“Likewise,” I replied.
We both smiled.
I turned on the faucet and splashed water on my face. Familiar pressure still behind my eyes.
“It’s a tragedy that my only role is to reflect what’s here,” mirror-self said.
“It’s your job. Now shut up,” I commanded.
“Remember, I choose to be here,” he said, smiling.
I wasn’t smiling.
I shut off the lights and left.
“Be seeing you,” he whispered.
Author bio: Alex Z. Salinas lives in San Antonio, Texas. His flash fiction has appeared in Every Day Fiction, escarp, 101 Words, Nanoism, and ZeroFlash.
https://alexzsalinas.wordpress.com/about/
Mirror is part of 101 Fiction issue 15.
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