Broken mirror-0
I was a somewhat introverted man--an "indoorsy person," as many people would put it. Having lived alone in a small suburban apartment for years without any roommate, I had found my own ways to cope with the feeling of loneliness that sometimes befell me.

There was a large full length mirror in my living room, and whenever I felt bored, I would sit down in front of it and talk to my own reflection. Some say there will never be two identical people in the world, which may or may not be true; as for me, I had my mirror.

This mirrored reflection of myself proved to be the most perfect friend I could have ever wanted. We wore the same clothes, and spoke of the same things. He lived in a room exactly like my own, only mirrored; and he would never contradict me on any topic.

Sometimes I'd wonder if there was an entire mirrored world in there. It would be where my reflection lived--a man who looked exactly like myself. He would mirror my every move in his own little world of reflections--even when I was not looking.

Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but everyone needs a pastime, don't they? I'd sometimes sat in front of the mirror for hours, talking to my reflection, and imagining his response.

Recently however, I had made up my mind to get rid of the mirror. A friend of mine managed to get me a job at the local McDonald's--not a very good one of course, but it's a start. I decided that it's about time to say goodbye to my friend in the mirror, and go to the real world--if you know what I mean.

I got a hammer from the drawer (over-correction, I assumed, was necessary in my case), and went into the living room. There I stood before the mirror, hammer in hand, and gazed at my reflection, who in turn looked back at me with an identical hammer in his hand.

What if there really was another world within my mirror? What would happen in there should the mirror break? I shook my head hard to get rid of the thought.

Concentrate, I told myself. Early start, early finish.

Raising the hammer over my head, I brought it down on the glass. And my reflection, of course, did exactly the same thing from within the mirror. For a split second it looked like to me as if two hammers had connected with the mirror's surface from both sides at the same time.

A cobweb of cracks exploded from the point of impact, expanding to cover the entire surface of the mirror before stretching out of its frame and climbing onto the walls, the furniture, and my body. Before I had time to react, the mirror, myself, and everything around me collapsed into thousands of sparkling pieces.

As my consciousness slowly receded, I saw with blurry eyes through the now empty mirror frame that my "reflection" was turning and walking away.

I had been both right and wrong. There was indeed a world of reflections within my mirror--but I'd got it the other way around.

The reflection in the mirror was not him--it was me.

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