The Figures

Based off of my demented thoughts and dreams.

The Pasta
They are with me.

Everytime I'm lost in the dark, I look around. I can see their sihlouettes. I can feel their presence. I know they can feel, hear, maybe even taste my heart; how rapidly it beats. I don't move. Oh, no. If I did, I'm sure they'd have my cold, dead body, tearing away my precious pale flesh to eat as a snack.

I saw their faces. It was horrid, like someone ran over a few newborns' faces and smacked it with a bat.

I gagged. Not just because of their revoulting faces, but because I'd seen those faces before.

They ran away, so I tried to run, too. I ran straight into a wall. I swore while pulling out my phone, illuminating the wallside. It was really a door. I turned the handle, finding it unlocked. I walked in and found the room empty. Then I saw... dark figures. They were crowding what looked like a mirror. I let all of my fear and angst subside and walked towards the mirror.

After all, it was just a mirror, right? As I walked closer and closer to the mirror, I felt a wave of regret hit me as I did. Or was it the figures? I don't know anymore.

I was standing full in front of the mirror. I stared into it curiously, observing myself, starting at my feet. As I scanned myself, inching closer to my face, the figures seemed  to be creeping up close to me. I was up to my shoulders, then to my face. I almost fainted.

I looked like them..