Written by Hannah Ortega
Illustrated by Rocky Higine
"My hand reaches for a mirror and touches glass. Or maybe flesh."
I’m walking through a house of mirrors,
but I don’t remember buying a ticket.
I amble around, hands on the glass,
looking at the funny distortions of me.
Tongue stuck out,
laughter escapes my lips
as I ponder the ridiculousness of it all.
Then the mirrors seem to grow closer,
my reflections seem to grow wider,
and the lights flicker between black and white.
I’m running through a house of mirrors,
but I don’t remember when it became frightening.
I smash into glass and claw at their frames,
hoping to find a door.
The reflections don’t look right as they tower over me.
There’s something off in each one,
though they all seem to grin and taunt
as they press me into the floor.
I’m trapped inside a house of mirrors,
but I don’t remember what I look like.
I give up on trying to find a way out.
I realize the light bouncing off the mirrors
has refracted and fractured my reality.
My hand reaches for a mirror and touches glass.
Or maybe flesh.
There’s a girl staring back at me.
I wonder who she is.
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