Perfect circles of black. Every morning I leaned into the mirror staring through my eyes. An unblinking meditation. Before thin images of work or politics could thicken into the infinite tentacled relentless squeeze of life’s daily distractions, I’d refocus. Small muscular twitches redirecting both the external and internal gaze. Every light in the apartment switched off to provide a clear, empty background. No images allowed in peripheral vision to relay additional diversion from the exercise. In searching for myself, all the time worn old books taught to remove myself.
My heart rate slowed. The powerful squeeze and release gently eased the blood flow through veins reaching like branches below my skin. My cells breathed in the necessary oxygen, replenishing themselves on the food lungs provided.
I was aware of the cool tiles under my feet. Aware of the round edged porcelain sink pressed against my palms. The towel slipped from my waist and freshly showered, damp skin quivered and turned goose pimpled. In reaction, I turned from the mirror and reached down. With the towel tied and covering my damp skin again, I looked once again into my reflection to meditate my existence again.
He stood slightly to the left of my pupil. I blinked and turned around. Other than the shadow below the toilet paper rack, no one stood there. I rubbed my eyes and looked into the mirror again hoping I would be alone inside my eyes.
My twin other than in size. Shaved head and two week beard. Too small inside my eye for more detail to be examined. I really didn’t want to spend that much effort looking at him anyway.
Switching focus to my left eye, he wasn’t there. He stood in place only occupying that one small spot in my vision. I covered my eye and all I could see was emptiness of shadows. Removing the hand, he re-appeared above the deep brown vessels of my cornea.
Shimmering from the glow of a hidden light source. He glared at me without any sense of compassion or joy. Below his eyebrows, the semicircular crevasses of his eyes were buried in a black vacuum. All of the peace and mindfulness I’d achieved in my morning meditation was pulled away from me into those two deep pits. As despair grew, he encompassed more of my eye.
The tip of his head pressed through the iris edge into now red branched and bloodshot sclera. My chest strained against each pulse of my heart as it pulsed louder in my ears. His arms slowly lifted to shoulder height stretching from one corner to the other. I squeezed my eyes closed.
Small fingers with sharp nails clawed between the lids pulling them open. His foot gained toehold in my tear duct shooting blades of agony through every nerve of my face. Vision blurred making it impossible for my hand to find him.
I slapped at my face hitting only skin. My cheek throbbed, teeth gnashed together. I whipped my arms in all directions. I smashed my head forward in an attempt to crush him against the mirror, to hell with the myth of seven years.
I bounced back. No crack of glass. No blood or sound of any kind.
He looks in the mirror. Me here, in his eye. He smiles. As he turns away I watch myself retreat inward to the shadows.
My heart rate slowed. The powerful squeeze and release gently eased the blood flow through veins reaching like branches below my skin. My cells breathed in the necessary oxygen, replenishing themselves on the food lungs provided.
I was aware of the cool tiles under my feet. Aware of the round edged porcelain sink pressed against my palms. The towel slipped from my waist and freshly showered, damp skin quivered and turned goose pimpled. In reaction, I turned from the mirror and reached down. With the towel tied and covering my damp skin again, I looked once again into my reflection to meditate my existence again.
He stood slightly to the left of my pupil. I blinked and turned around. Other than the shadow below the toilet paper rack, no one stood there. I rubbed my eyes and looked into the mirror again hoping I would be alone inside my eyes.
My twin other than in size. Shaved head and two week beard. Too small inside my eye for more detail to be examined. I really didn’t want to spend that much effort looking at him anyway.
Switching focus to my left eye, he wasn’t there. He stood in place only occupying that one small spot in my vision. I covered my eye and all I could see was emptiness of shadows. Removing the hand, he re-appeared above the deep brown vessels of my cornea.
Shimmering from the glow of a hidden light source. He glared at me without any sense of compassion or joy. Below his eyebrows, the semicircular crevasses of his eyes were buried in a black vacuum. All of the peace and mindfulness I’d achieved in my morning meditation was pulled away from me into those two deep pits. As despair grew, he encompassed more of my eye.
The tip of his head pressed through the iris edge into now red branched and bloodshot sclera. My chest strained against each pulse of my heart as it pulsed louder in my ears. His arms slowly lifted to shoulder height stretching from one corner to the other. I squeezed my eyes closed.
Small fingers with sharp nails clawed between the lids pulling them open. His foot gained toehold in my tear duct shooting blades of agony through every nerve of my face. Vision blurred making it impossible for my hand to find him.
I slapped at my face hitting only skin. My cheek throbbed, teeth gnashed together. I whipped my arms in all directions. I smashed my head forward in an attempt to crush him against the mirror, to hell with the myth of seven years.
I bounced back. No crack of glass. No blood or sound of any kind.
He looks in the mirror. Me here, in his eye. He smiles. As he turns away I watch myself retreat inward to the shadows.
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