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#225: Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

From Narcissus falling in love with his own reflection to the speaking mirror in Snow White, mirror images have always been a popular motif in literature, commonly used to introduce questions of identity or self-consciousness. But they can also be used to create a split between reality and illusion: is what we see really the truth, or are our eyes — or indeed minds — playing tricks on us? Taken one step further, one might even argue that texts themselves are a reflection of their author and the world they inhabit.

This week’s prompts invite you to reflect (pardon the pun) on topics of self-image, twisted realities, and outer appearance that may or may not capture what’s going on beneath the surface.

This week's prompts

Start your story with someone buying a cursed — or perhaps blessed —mirror from an antiques store.

Fantasy – 59 stories

Write a story about someone trying to paint (or otherwise create) a self-portrait.

Character – 53 stories

Write a story about someone coming across their doppelganger.

Mystery – 37 stories

Write a story about a character who one day notices that their reflection has taken on a life of its own.

Fantasy – 40 stories

Set your story in a house of mirrors and make the atmosphere increasingly eerie.

Horror – 38 stories

Stories

“Returning Marie” by Kevin B

Now before I say anything else, I just need to establish that I am not mad. I have every reason to be mad, but I’m not. I’m not mad. I’ve never been less mad than I am right now even though I have every reason to be madder than I’ve ever been in my life. To the best of my recollection, you were not working here when I came in on Sunday. I’m sure I would remember somebody ...

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“Age is a Broken Promise” by Graham Kinross

TW: Swearing, death, suicide, superheroes Karl Cent relaxed in his plush chair surrounded by paintings. “Apex Lad, it’s a pleasure to be invited to the first public exhibition of your paintings. Can you tell me why you chose the title Age is a Broken Promise?” Knowing the camera had cut to the muscular hero, the presenter checked that his microphone was hidden properly by his collar. “I though...

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“Arthur” by David McCahan

Arthur held his father’s hand tightly. His cap fixed to his head, breeches cinched at his waist with a small leather belt. His first tie knotted at his collar, his father showing him how to tie it as he did it for his young son. Arthur was studious, even at the young age of seven. Serious. Determined. He absorbed everything he could and kept records. First in his head. As he aged, in journals. Anything he found in...

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“Gertrude Inn” by Hazel Ide

The span of my childhood could be separated into two categories: Knowing and Not-knowing.In fact, everyone in my family, even the adults, could split similarly: those who knew and those who didn’t.Regardless of which category you fell into, everyone knew Grandma had certain… proclivities. It was an unspoken thing, yet you felt how heavily it threaded into every conversation and side-comment at family gatherings. No one really talked about it, not outright, but it was always there, lingering between the lines. <...

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“Love Songs for the Deaf” by Delbert Griffith

Monday I can paint anyone and make them look good. Except myself. Why this is the case remains a mystery to me. Right now, for example, I’m studying my jawline on canvas. It looks anatomically correct, but that isn’t my jawline. It doesn’t feel like my jawline. I scrape a bit with a palette knife. I smudge a l...

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“Doppel” by Sean Packard

Doppel by Sean Glenn Douglas Packard Why is it that when we stare into terror, we often stare into our own eyes? I think it’s the way we’re wired. It’s our thoughts. We have access to them but nobody else; and just as it is impossible for foreign hands to unscrew our craniums and peer inside, so too do the minds of others remain unknowable to us. We’re ...

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“What Says The Mirror” by Mary Bendickson

What Says The Mirror“Don't judge me. Yeah, I am talking to you, Doppelganger. I only can repeat what I see. You come to me every day. Morning and night. Looking. Searching. Asking questions. Always with the questions. What do you expect from me?“You want me to force you to confront your own truths? Well, the truth is--How should I know? Look at you! That's all I can help you with. I am the same. Yesterday, today and probably will be tomorrow.“I hang around here all the time, whether you are around or not, a...

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“Self Imagery ” by Michelle Oliver

Florien needed to find a real artist. Well, he was a real artist. Centuries of practice had honed his brush strokes to a level that far exceeded proficient. His landscapes were so vivid that you could feel the warm breeze and the soft sun. Or should that be, feel the soft breeze and warm sun? It had been over two hundred years since he’d set foot beyond these castle walls in daylight hours, so he wasn’t quite sure. But today, he needed to find an artist other than Mrs Bedford at the inn who’d painted the most hideous portra...

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“The Black Box” by Nina H

Gabby double checked the address in her phone as her small Toyota climbed over rocks and roots down Orchard Road. After confirming she was indeed going in the right direction, she squinted at what appeared to be a massive, ivy covered, red brick building in the distance. The morning sun was cutting through just enough autumn fog to allow her to see it must have been built ages ago. The brick was crumbling, the ivy stret...

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“Galerie des Glaces” by Marty B

**** themes of violence *****1681, Versaille, France.Maestro La Motta saw his dead father walking toward him through the arched alcove, and pure terror washed through him. Had his Father has come across the world to haunt him, to torment him for destroying his legacy? Workmen’s voices shouted in French and in German outside the open windows of the long hallway. When he heard the vibrant tones of his own language, Venetian, La Motta looked out to see his two apprentices, the only people ...

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“Fairest” by Geir Westrul

Looking into my reflective surface, she whispers:"Mirror, Mirror. Who is fairest of them all?"I always answer:"Your majesty, you are fairest of all."... and then I show her the very best social images of herself, the ones that are curated (by me) for the combination of most views and highest number of likes, with all the negging hater troll comments deleted (again, by me, her trusted AI assistant), and the most gushing, fawning...

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“Reflections on Popular Literature” by Scott Christenson

[TW: fictional book burning]If a ticking bomb under the table propels a plot forward, so too will a deadline on the wall spur the creation of literary excellence, Keith Highfield thought as he signed the death warrant of the Highfield Library. The intricate interplay between danger and creativity is a delicate balancing act.After The Hobbit was published, J. R. R. Tolkien spent 15 years writing the Lord of the Rings. Keith would give himself the same amount of time to complete his own novel, High Tower. At the offices o...

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“The Mirror of Monte Cristo” by Jonathan Page

It was a Thanksgiving like any other and Charles Scribe heated up a Hungry Man Roasted Carved Turkey dinner and poured himself a glass of Robert Mondavi cabernet in a plastic cup. Charles took his meal at his writing desk, as there was no dinner table in his apartment. Wine was reserved for holidays and though he had placed a bottle-stopper tightly over the wine bottle, it was still flat because it had been sitting in the refrigerator since the Fourth of July.The six-foot by eight-foot, forty-eight square foot writing no...

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“The Proposal” by Jonathan Page

There had to be more to life than funding other people’s dreams. Rachel Zahara fixed her hair in the foyer mirror, spritzing Baccarat Rouge on her neck and wrists, careful not to wake Brian. She walked down to the Hudson Market with a spring in her step. Once her deal finally closed, Rachel would escape the cold New York winter and get away to Riviera Maya. And Brian knew that she was expecting a proposal when they got there.When she met Brian seven years ago, they both had great jobs and seemed so far ahead of the game....

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“Oil and Water” by Chris Miller

The scrutiny of the gallery guard weighed on Spencer like a wet dressing gown. He’d felt watched since he pushed through the heavy doors into the guard’s peacefully unvisited room. Spencer was tired from his unplanned journey and thought that the gallery of the unfamiliar town might offer sanctuary. A place where he could clear his head sufficiently to be able to plan his next move.

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