SHORT STORY – THE REFLECTION I AM NOT
THE REFLECTION I AM NOT
Automatic traslation from the original story in Spanish. Not checked manually
Today, upon waking, I looked around and, to my surprise, found my bedroom much more sombre than usual. It gave me an utterly claustrophobic feeling.
Instinctively, I tried to smile and push away this strange sense of oppression I was experiencing. I began my daily ritual of grooming and a frugal breakfast.
As every morning, before leaving, I pause in front of the mirror to adjust my tie. It’s such a routine habit that I barely pay attention to it, until today.
This morning, as I looked at myself, I noticed something strange. My reflection smiled, but I felt no joy. I blinked, and the smile remained, mocking, fixed on its lips. Then I felt a chill run down my spine. I looked away, but when I looked again, the reflection had vanished.
I thought it was my imagination, a trick of the light, or just tiredness. But throughout the day, the feeling intensified. In the reflection of my phone screen, in the windowpane, on every shiny surface, my image seemed to move with a delay, or make gestures I wasn’t making.
With each passing day, this perception grew stronger, and my inner unease increased even faster than the perceptions themselves.
One night I woke with a start and, without knowing how, found myself facing the bathroom mirror. My reflection no longer mimicked me. Instead of copying my movements, it observed me with a cold, almost defiant expression. I tried to move my hand, but the reflection remained motionless. Then, slowly, it raised its hand and pointed at me with its index finger.
Fear paralyzed me. Who was this other person? Was it me? Or was it someone else who had been there all along, hidden behind the glass?
The following days were a torment. The reflection began to act on its own: it smiled when I was serious, cried when I was calm, and sometimes seemed to whisper words I couldn’t understand. My mind was shattering, and reality was becoming a labyrinth with no way out.
My life, that ordinary life, my comfort zone, had vanished. One night, I decided it was time to confront him. I stood before the mirror and shouted, “What do you want from me?”
The reflection stared back at me, and with a voice that seemed to rise from a deep abyss, replied, “I want to be free.”
Before I could react, I felt a pull inside me, as if something were tearing me from within. I fell to the floor, dizzy, and when I looked up, the man in the mirror was in my place, smiling with satisfaction.
Now, from the other side of the glass, I watch my reflection walk freely through the real world. And I… I am trapped here, condemned to observe, unable to move, unable to scream. Because sometimes, the reflection that we are not is the one that truly wants to live.
The Reflection I Am Not – Short stories series – Copyright ©Montserrat Valls and Juan Genovés