Razor Mirror

The night was black. A lifeless moon hung in the sky like dull alloy. Stars were littered about everywhere, giving off their gray light. But it was more of a glow than any kind of light, and the night's black covered everything like spilled ink.

A forest covered the land below. The trees were dark green with leaves. But, all the trees were the same... All deciduous; all alive. The trunks were covered in the same rough brown bark that didn't flake off. And a dark crimson sap seemed to be oozing from the trees... But it wasn't sap. The trees were dripping blood.

They always bled at night.

A gust of air, and the slick leaves didn't even rustle. Nothing moved. The black wind swept through the forest, gushing between the trees. Nothing stirred but the grass, which flowed like waves along the ground.

And one small girl, whose hair and dress were being whipped about her. She was alone, wandering through the forest in a daze. There was just enough starglow filtering through the trees for her to see everything clearly. If, that is, she was actually seeing anything at all.

Another gust of wind. The thin grass flowed in another wave, brushing against her ankles like silk. And she continued to walk without definite pause. Without thought, lifting each foot gingerly as if not to break herself. And the soles of her feet were coated like candy apples. Underneath the lush grass, blood oozed like muddy snakes.

It was night. The girl did not know where she was walking to. And she didn't know how long she had been in the forest. It could've been an eternity or only the breadth of a second. But time never really crossed her mind. Her mind was a fog; without structure. But it was not empty.

Still no pause in the girl's tip-toe walking. Her hands brushed across trees as she walked by them, peering around them almost blankly. She never once looked back to see where she had been. And somehow, the blood from the trees never actually once dripped on her

Ahead. Wanders further, deeper in. And then a pause. Her head took a curious tilt, and she seemed dazedly confused. Cautiously, almost, she walked forward. Until she was standing directly in front of it. Looking down on it.

Her reflection.

A twin of herself was sitting on the grass, her back against a tree. The twin's knees were held tightly against its chest. It rocked slightly, so that it almost seemed still. The twin looked up at the girl, didn't even blink, and then looked back down at the ground.

The girl remained standing, looking at the mirror image of herself. Why, the twin was even wearing the same dress. The girl reached out her hand, as if to touch the duplicate. But she drew back quickly. For some reason, she didn't want to touch it.

"Hello?" the girl asked the reflection.

There was no answer. The twin didn't even acknowledge that it had heard her.

She leaned closer, peering at herself. She crouched slightly down, now only a little above eye-level of the reflection. The twin's hair hung in its face, and its eyes lacked any luster.

"Hello?" the girl asked again. She reached out her hand, letting her palm brush against the twin's forehead. She brushed a few wisps of hair out of the reflection's eyes.

And it looked up at her.

The girl took a shaky step back. The twin's eyes were staring at her. Its pupils were black, empty holes. And there was no reflection in them.

The girl looked harder. No, she couldn't see herself in the twin's eyes. She took a step forward, peering harder. That was so odd. How could there be no reflection?

Without thinking, her hand reached out once again to brush a few strands of hair out of the twin's face.

The change was so quick it was incomprehensible. The twin's lips stretched over its teeth in an almost shaky snarl. Its gums split open in a river of blood, and sharp daggers forced their way through. Its teeth became over a foot long. Huge, crystalline razors that gnashed in a horrible symphony. The reflection's head was unproportioned, giving way but not accustoming itself to the huge jaws.

The girl felt hard as glass, unable to move. Her eyes were wide as saucers, unable to believe what she was seeing.

The thing's jaws opened.

As if in slow motion, the girl's mouth began to open in fright.

And the reflection clamped down on the girl's hand. It tore it off her arm, flesh shredding like scarves. Blood rushed out in rapids where the razor teeth were only moments before.

The girl's pain got caught in her throat like a giant, dull fishhook. Her eyes were unimaginably wide, and her mouth was frozen in a gaping chasm.

The reflection's jaw opened up in a jagged slit, the teeth parting. And the sound it let out was not a howl, not a scream... it was only an echo.

It was dusk in the city. People walked down the pavement as if with purpose. High heels clicked against concrete; empty sounds on a cold sidewalk. The people looked ahead, never glancing to the side to see who walked next to them. They were like programs running on a schedule of time that kept running out.

A little boy tugged at his mother's sleeve, pointing at something behind a glass window. The mother scolded him for even looking and ushered him to walk on. The boy's face turned to a pout, and his eyes were watery. The mother clasped his hand and pulled him, making him walk forward.

A homeless person shook a styrofoam cup at the woman. Change jingled inside. The mother only glanced at the man and walked on, pulling her son behind her. The couple were swallowed into the crowd. Just more faceless walkers.

The homeless person gazed into the cup, looking at the dull disks of metal. He jingled the coins again, liking the sound of money. The man leaned back against the wall, tilting his head to rest. He looked at the sky and saw that it was getting near night. Time to go to his bed.

He stood up, taking his change cup with him. He walked down the street and turned into an alley. Past trash cans and dumpster bins. A little further down, and he turned into another back alley. He paused a moment, noticing a red footprint on the ground. But, as people usually do, he ignored it and walked on. Turning another turn, heading for his bed.

And the red footprint sat there. Sat, on the concrete, partially muddled with old rainwater. There was another footprint not too far away from it, and another. If the homeless man had cared, he would've seen that the footprints led to a pair of feet. But he had pushed thought of it from his mind, and thus the pair of feet remained hidden in the dark corner of a forgotten alley.

Feet, with soles stained crimson. Liquid clinging between the toes and trickling softly on the ground. And above that, jeans turned rags. Red splatterpaint across the fabric. Although, on the person's shirt, it was almost like red paint had entirely spilled out in some places. Tattered and dripping with fluid.

The girl clung to the building's cement wall, trembling where she stood. Her face was frozen in an expression of terror, eyes wide. One hand clutched at the wall. And there was no other hand to speak of. Only a bloody, torn stump that had been aggravated by being dragged across a rough surface.

And on the ugly, building wall, a dripping message had been written. Thick blood, it read: "Wake Me Up"