Reflections. Short Story.

Sandra sat on the small chair in front of the mirror, she slumped back into it, “You would not believe the day I’ve had. It was horrible. I swear, I take one day off and the office implodes. Does anyone beside me actually do their job in that place?” She smiled at herself as she nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about my problems. It was just so frustrating.”
She shook her head and gestured for her to continue.
“Well, first I get in and find that all the paperwork Tony was supposed to do while I was gone was still sitting there, undone. That had to be in yesterday at five, and when I told him that he just shrugged and said sorry. Like I won’t be reporting that to Jo-Ann. Ugh. Then, THEN that bitch Frederica was telling everyone how I screwed her over by taking the day off. Eh, excuse me, I booked that day off months ago and they all knew it was coming.” She blew out a long breath, “and this was before lunch. God. The screw ups in there. I also had to give written warnings to two people.” She nodded at herself again, Sandra sighed, “I’m really sorry to be venting like this at you. It’s just so nice to have someone to talk to ya know? Actually talk to, knowing that they are listening and not just waiting for their own turn to talk. Well, its all over now at least. How was your day?”

“My day was fine, not nearly as exciting as yours.” Sandra leaned in closer to the mirror, it could be so hard to hear her some days. In the beginning it had felt a little strange, talking to herself like this but as time went on she began to enjoy it more and more. She knew she wouldn’t judge herself, she could say anything and it would be fine. When it had started she had thought she was going insane, but so far there had been nothing else to suggest it, so if it was mental, it didn’t seem to be progressing. Besides, it only happened with this specific mirror and none of the others. That in and of itself was a little reassuring. The mirror wasn’t old or anything special, just something cheap she had bought from a chain store, opting for it due to its size and cost rather than for any decorative reasons. It was a large, plain rectangular mirror without any kind of frame or adornment. She had installed the thing herself easily enough. Sandra would use it in the mornings when getting ready, checking if her outfit worked, brushing her hair or applying some small dabs of make up before leaving. A few times she thought she saw something strange, but she always dismissed it as her being only half awake at the time. As the days went by, it began to get more and more obvious that it wasn’t just her being tired. The movements of mirror her were slowed or off. About two weeks after it had been put in Sandra stood in front of it, studying herself, watching for things that were strange or different. It was another three days before the reflection could move independently, albeit extremely slowly. Another week before she could move at normal speeds. It had only been in the last two weeks that the reflection was able to talk. Before they used a kind of sign language, gesturing and pointing. Sandra found that if she moved a pad and pen into the mirror the reflecting could pick up her versions and write on them, though Sandra had difficulty reading it until she got another mirror to reverse the image. They got to know one another slowly through writing, and then much faster when she could finally speak. The mirror her was her, they shared memories, though some differed in small, subtle ways. Like her prom dress, it had been black, whereas the reflection remembered it as being a deep red. Sandra had taken a while before deciding on whether she wanted a black one or the red one. The next day she dug out an old photograph of her and her boyfriend at the time, when she held it up to the mirror the dress in the reflection was indeed red, her boyfriend was also different. A boy who had asked her out, but whom she had turned down in the hopes that Todd would ask her out instead. Despite these minor differences, they were the same. Sandra found herself looking forward to these chats, even at the expense of other friends. Neither one knew how or why it was happening, or what it meant. Was it some kind of strange portal to another dimension, where they could see and talk to one another? Sandra didn’t know, she only knew she enjoyed it all so far. Her only problem was moving the mirror. It was in her room, which was all well and good, but it felt a little strange to be going to sleep and seeing her in the mirror too. Sandra was afraid of moving the mirror, in case it broke what ever connection there was. They had a simple solution. They would both cover their mirrors with some fabric. If they wanted to and were available they’d leave it down while they were in the room and if the other came along that was great. Thought they had a daily date at six in the evening. Just to chat for a few minutes. Usually it went on much longer. They even had dinner together once or twice, going off to cook their own meals then returning to eat and chat.
The other Sandra turned her head, “I have to go, that’s mom. I forgot she was coming over for dinner.”
Sandra’s heart jumped a little, as it always did, “How is she doing?”
“She’s good, a little tired the last few days, but fine otherwise.”
“I’m glad.” Sandra’s own mother had died of cancer seven years before, other Sandra’s mother had beaten it.
“Enjoy your dinner.”
“Thanks. I hope you have a nice evening. I’ll be done probably around tenish.”
“Cool.” Sandra had hoped that she might be able to see the other mother, but Sandra could only ever see herself and the reflection of her room in the mirror. The other Sandra said it was the same for her.
The other Sandra stood and covered her mirror, after a moment Sandra did the same. She glanced at her watch, then at the mirror. It was getting late enough, she’d have to get a start on her own dinner soon. Turning away from the mirror she left the room, turning off the light as she went.


About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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2 Responses to Reflections. Short Story.

  1. KasimsKorner says:

    Easy to relate to characters and a good writing style. In short pretty much everything you need to become a successful author. I’ve followed, and would be honoured to hear your thoughts on some of my works on my blog. Keep writing and have a good day 🙂

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