Mirroring

The loud ringing of the paper boy's bell awakened me. He rode his bike along the street, throwing the weekly newspaper at the heads of the neighborhood driveways. It was nine in the morning, and I was late for work. Quickly, I threw off my covers and proceeded to the bathroom. I grabbed my toothbrush from the ceramic holder and opened a drawer to retrieve my bubble gum toothpaste. I've had a lingering appreciation for bubble gum-flavored items. They would remind me of my years of ignorance and carelessness. When there was no world pressing down on my shoulders except my own, which felt like a feather.

I grabbed my toothbrush and turned on the faucet. I let the water run over the tip of my toothbrush for a few seconds, then I added a small amount of toothpaste to the bristles. As I raised the toothbrush to my mouth, I tasted the sweet flavor of bubble gum hit my tongue. Suddenly, I was back in my old house that night, my best friend Adrian and I found out we had the same toothpaste. We swapped toothpaste that night as a joke, but we promised each other we'd never throw away the empty tube. I still have that toothpaste tube in my drawer.

By the time I finished reminiscing about my childhood, I had concluded brushing my teeth. I spat the white foam into the sink and turned off the water. I bent over, brought my head towards the stream, and opened my mouth. I collected some water, pressed my lips together, and swished the water around through my teeth and under my tongue. After a few seconds, I spat it back out and turned off the water. I stood up straight again and pressed my hands on the sink counter. I let out a long exhale and then looked up at the empty space on the wall in front of me. The space on the wall has always been there since they built this house, but it's become a puzzle in which I can't find the missing piece. I used to try to put pictures or shelves in the space, but they never seemed to fit in the area. When I asked my neighbors if their bathrooms had that same space, they said, "Oh yeah, my bathroom has always had that, but I hung a picture there to cover it up! Now I brush my teeth on a beach in Malibu!" I would always chuckle at their responses, but they would always be the same, except the place the picture on the wall would be of. I never quite let that go, but that's not the only thing I questioned.

After brushing my teeth, I went to my closet, reached in, and grabbed a black button-up shirt and black dress pants. I put them on, grabbed my shoes off the floor, sat on my bed, and slipped on my loafers. I got up and walked down the hallway, then down the stairs and through the opening of my kitchen. I made a bowl of cereal and proceeded to quickly eat it. I remembered I was late and still needed to grab the newspaper from my front yard. I walked out the door, pressed a button on my key fob to start the car, and walked to the driveway's edge. On my way, I looked to my right and saw my neighbor walking to get his paper. He was wearing an oily denim overall and a gray undershirt. He had blonde hair, a complexion the color of sand, and eyes as blue as the sea. Once I grabbed my newspaper, I turned to my left where I saw my other neighbor. She had just grabbed her newspaper and was walking to her car. She wore a black dress suit and black heels. She had blonde hair, a complexion the color of sand, and eyes as blue as the sea. I was used to them looking the same. Other people were too. But, even though it didn't raise concern, it was still disturbing. I said good morning, and she said good morning back.

Afterward, I got into my car and drove off. I passed many places on the road, including a Food Lion, a Starbucks, and a hospital. On the side of the hospital, with a big glowing sign saying "Emergency", an ambulance was unloading. On the stretcher was a man with a bloody face and blond hair. The paramedics wore black button-up shirts with a white insignia on their chest and a pair of black pants. The paramedic on the right of the stretcher stood about six feet tall, appeared female, and had a complexion the color of sand. The paramedic on the left was the same height and had blonde hair. As I saw the scene, I whispered, "I hope they're okay." I returned my focus to getting to work and pressed down on the gas pedal a little harder. 

Down the road, I saw the traffic light turn yellow, I let out a soft groan as I slowed my car down. I stopped at the white line before the light and watched the flood of red cars pass. A red car similar to mine pulled up beside me and waited for the light to change. I glanced over for a second and then returned my gaze to the light. Then, as a sudden realization hit me, I violently turned my neck towards the other car and looked at the person driving. He had blonde hair, a complexion the color of sand, and eyes as blue as the sea! I had thought he was my neighbor and yelled "Hey!" The light turned green and the guy immediately sped away. I pressed the gas pedal and turned down the perpendicular road watching him go the other way. As I pulled into my work parking lot, I wondered if that was my neighbor. It was unlikely, though. Everybody looks the same, except some people are female and others are male.

It's always concerning how little people consider the fact that they all look the same, but to be fair, they don't actually believe it. Everyone's okay with everybody else looking the same as long as nobody looks like them, but they don't even know what they look like. I'm twenty-seven years old, and I've never seen myself. After walking the streets, I've assumed that I look the same as everyone else. As far as I know, nobody else has seen their face either. Our doppelganger appearances didn't seem unusual because it had always been this way, but something about it felt wrong.

Once I arrived at my workplace, I went to my workstation, turned on my computer, and logged in. As the small dots on the screen chased each other in a circle, I leaned back in my chair and looked around. My office floor walls were the dullest white anyone had ever seen. My coworkers and I worked in white cubicles grouped in fours. I had a little plant on my desk and a pen holder. On the wall, there was a poster that said, "Working together is always better!" I sat there and stared at the picture that the words hovered over. In the picture was a green field with yellow flowers and people holding hands in a circle. I don't know why, but that picture always interested me, and every time I looked away, I would feel like I was missing something. It was like the empty space on my bathroom wall.

Today the picture seemed clearer, and in an instant it hit me. My heart raced, and questions were forming in my head. I jolted out of my chair and walked over to my friend Paul's desk.

"Paul!" I whispered to him.

"Hey, buddy! How was your weekend? My son played in his first Little League baseball game on Saturday. He hit a home run and I was all like, 'Oh yeah, that's my son!' And my wife was just snapping pictures the whole time. It was wild!" Paul is very loud and when he said that, almost everyone looked over at us.

"Paul, calm out. I need to show you something." I continued to whisper as I gestured to him in the direction of the picture. 

We walked over there and stood in front of the picture. He stood with his arms crossed and his head cocked to one side.

"So, what am I supposed to be looking for?" he said in a casual tone.

"Look at the people in the picture," I said in a hushed tone, "what do you see?"

"They look happy, I guess." He responded, looking confused, even though it wasn't unexpected. Paul wasn't very bright, which made me wonder how he even got a job here.

I looked at the poster again and chills ran down my spine. There were about five people in the circle, and they sent an uncanny vibe that coursed through my veins. The first person had caramel-colored skin and black hair. The second person had skin the color of coffee and their hair had orange highlights. The third person had pale skin and blue hair. The fourth person had skin as white as snow and shining silver hair. The fifth and final person had blonde hair and skin the color of sand.

I turned to Paul and saw the look of horror on his face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but couldn't. Then, in an instant, he closed his mouth, and his face darkened. He turned towards me with a stern look on his face and said, "You weren't supposed to see that." He turned to the poster, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a matchbox. He opened it, lit a match, turned towards me, extended his arm, and said, "Burn it." I stared at the flame dancing on the stick and then looked up into Paul's eyes. They were no longer a sea blue, they had turned to a deep grey, lifeless. My heart pounded as I turned and looked at the picture and then at the match. Paul stood like a statue, holding his arm out. I glanced around, wondering why no one else reacted, but my coworkers all stared at me with the same lifeless expression. Then, in a chilling chorus, they intoned, "Burn it!" Their voices rose, a mindless chant, as they surged to their feet. "Burn it!" they screamed, their faces twisted with a fervor I didn't understand. I spun back to Paul, and tears streamed down his face as he whispered one final time, "Burn it." With a jerky movement, he touched the match to the poster. I watched in horror as the flames licked at the paper, spreading with terrifying speed. The fire alarm shrieked to life, and the sprinklers hissed, but the water did nothing to quench the inferno. My coworkers pushed past me, fleeing the burning building, but Paul remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on me. Then, his eyes began to melt, streaming down his face like tears. His body started to shift, his limbs elongating, his skin glistening with an oily sheen. I watched, frozen in terror, as he melted like wax, his form dissolving until he was nothing but a puddle on the floor. The flames engulfed him, and I could feel the heat emanating from the blaze. Tears scalded my cheeks as I turned and sprinted from the building, emerging into the cool evening air. My coworker called the fire department to come and put out the fire, but it was too late. His cologne filled the air as the last bit of wax melted away. 

I sat on the curb, my face frozen with fear and turmoil. My mind, chaotically trying to decide if I should tell the authorities what happened, but what was the point? Paul is dead, and more people could die too. I don't know what happened, but I know why and I don't want to sit here knowing and not tell anyone.

"Sir, are you okay?" A female paramedic came up and asked me. She had blonde hair, a complexion the color of sand, and eyes as blue as the sea. She seemed genuinely worried.

I respond, "Yes."

Then a police officer came up to me and asked me, "Sir, do you know what happened?" The officer had blonde hair, a complexion the color of sand, and eyes as blue as the sea. 

My mind raced with thoughts, and my heart beat fast. The image of Paul's melting body, the match, my coworkers chanting, and the poster all flashed before my eyes. The fear and regret filled my heart, but somewhere in there, I wanted revenge; I wanted to know what had happened.

...

...

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"Yes..."