Reflection

2

I woke up in my bedroom, with no memory as to how I got there. Surprisingly, there was no blood on my neck. In fact, the wound was neatly bandaged, but it still burned. I groaned, my head pounding in my skull.

"I'm leaving!" I heard my dad, Sam Owens, call from downstairs. He sounded so loud, as if he were screaming right in my ear. I flinched, then cleared my throat (though it did nothing to help my hoarse voice) and called back, "Okay, bye!"

"Bye!" he called, even louder, and I groaned again before hearing the door shut with a click.

I got up, wobbled, and stumbled to my dresser, almost knocking it over as I fell into it. I raised my eyes to the mirror, then fell over with a sharp gasp, the pain in my skull momentarily forgotten.

Using the back of the chair, I raised myself up again slowly, and almost screamed. I was looking into the mirror, but nothing looked back at me. I could see my room, everything that was behind me, but not me. I waved my hand in front of it experimentally, but nothing showed.

Am I invisible? I thought. I looked down at my hands, but they were there, a shade paler than they should be. They were sort of a milky white, almost translucent. I would have paid more attention to this were it not for my lack of a reflection. Could mirrors stop working?

I turned and walked towards the full-body mirror on my door, but nothing showed in it. Again, my hand went to the bandage on my neck in wonder. What was happening to me?

Am I dreaming? That was the only reasonable explanation I could think of. I pinched my arm, hard, but nothing happened.

I went downstairs, got some Motrin for my head, and wandered around the kitchen, not sure what to do. Finally, I simply decided to make breakfast, and popped a pack of pop tarts in the toaster.

When they popped back up, I swear I almost went deaf. All these loud noises certainly weren't helping my headache. I made some coffee, and sat down to eat, but my appetite vanished the second I sat down. So I drank my coffee, and went to the bathroom to look at the bite, before remembering that I couldn't see it in the mirror, and I couldn't see it on my neck. So instead, I splashed my face with cool water and took a shower, hoping it would help me relax. It didn't.

I was supposed to meet up with some friends and go out for lunch, but the second I stepped into the sun, I screamed and dropped my keys. My skin was on fire. I turned to run to the door, but ran faster than I meant to-faster than any human was meant to. I slammed into the door so hard I fell backwards, and landed sprawled on the ground.

My skin burned again. I shrieked and rolled to the front porch. Once I was under the shade, I caught my breath and stood up. My keys were still on the ground, under the sun. I couldn't just leave them in the middle of the driveway.

Hesitantly, I reached one hand forward. It turned a bright red immediately, and started burning, white hot blisters bubbling on my skin. As I watched, it burst into flame-literally. "Gah!" I cried, bringing my hand back into the shade and stepping on it in an attempt to stop the fire. Thankfully, it died out, but my hand was burnt almost to the point of being unrecognizable. I stared at it, feeling faint.

Suddenly, starting from my forearm and working it's way up, the burns started to fade. They vanished entirely, revealing the pale skin underneath. There was no hint of any injury at all. I stared at it, unsure of how to react.

I glanced back up at my keys, lying innocently in the driveway. Maybe if I hurry...

As fast as I could, I reached out and snatched the keys. My hand moved in a blur of motion, at an inhuman speed. Even so, my wrist and hand burned red, but that quickly faded back to the same milky white as it was before as I flexed my hand in fascination.

I looked up to make sure no one was watching, but, of course, someone was. The neighbor across the street, an elderly man named Mr. Johnson, was frozen in shock, holding his water hose over the same plant, drowning it. I averted my eyes and walked swiftly inside, leaning against the door once it was closed.

I'm going crazy. That's the most logical explanation. The man who attacked me had some sort of disease-one that drives people to insanity. It would explain his eyes, and his behavior. It would explain why he bit me, and I had swallowed his blood. It must be transferred through blood.

I'm not really lacking a reflection. I didn't really catch on fire. I imagined it, all of it. I have whatever disease he had, and it's driving me crazy.

I called the friends I was supposed to meet—Natalie and Rosalyn—and told them that I had a massive headache, and couldn't come to lunch. They agreed that we should reschedule.

•  •  •

Dinner that night was...interesting, to say the least. I made spaghetti, but Sam got home late so I had to reheat it. The second he walked in the door, he froze and stared at me.

"Are you wearing contacts?" he asked in surprise. "Why?" I responded nervously.

"Your eyes are red."

I stopped dead in my tracks. Red. I had known it was coming, but it still felt like a professional boxer had punched me in the gut, full-force. My dad was still looking at me, this time with a hint of concern. I cleared my throat. "Uh, yeah. I got some contacts for my Halloween costume this year. I was just trying some on to make sure they work. How do they look?"

"They look real," he replied, then added in surprise, "You're dressing up this year?"

I cringed when I realized the hole in my lie, keeping my eyes on my plate. "Uh...yeah. I thought it could be fun." I haven't dressed up for Halloween since I was eleven.

"Well, that's neat. What're you gonna be?"

I bit my lip, thinking quickly. "A, uh...vampire. I thought the red eyes would be a nice touch."

"You were right. Is the pale skin part of the costume, too?"

"Yeah," I lied. Great. Now I have to dress up for Halloween.

I was shuffling my spaghetti around on my plate when he said, "You want some garlic bread?"

"No, thanks," I said, surprised at the disgust in my own voice.

"Why not? You love garlic."

"I'm just not that hungry," I answered. I do usually love garlic, but the thought of it now almost made me gag. I shuffled the food around on my plate until he was done, then excused myself and raced up the stairs to my room.

If only my dad would stop unintentionally interrogating me, I thought as I lay in bed that night.

Let's just say I've never slept worse in my life.