Glasswalker: Reflections

The Lie

Frankie struck the mirror. In his mind, he was thinking of the other mirror he'd just exited from. But he also held the memory of the mirror he'd just struck. Two mirrors, their memories held equally in his mind. Somehow, he felt his mind stretch. He gave a mental push. Something popped.

Steam misted, sound muffled, then he stumbled back out the other side. Two images were in his vision, like he was seeing cross-eyed. It brought a wave of nausea, but Frankie shoved it down. With that shove, he was back to seeing only one image . . . yet he could still sense the other, could still direct it in a tucked away corner of his mind.

There was the Parasite, standing directly ahead in the hallway. Not a mirror image this time; the real monster. And, beyond the Parasite, there was someone else. It was Frankie.

"You see the whole," Frankie said. "And I'm a part of that whole, so you can always see me. But now I've made myself two parts."

The Parasite shrieked: a wrathful, rising sound. "No!"

"Oh I'm sorry," Frankie said. "Was I not supposed to do that?" He gave his cheekiest of grins.

Honestly, he wasn't sure exactly how he had done it, or why. It had just felt right. Instinct. The instinct of the fae, perhaps. Could he do it again?

The Parasite launched itself at the alternate Frankie. Frankie's mind focused into that one's body; controlling it, he sidestepped. But the Parasite wasn't going for him. It struck the mirror, slammed itself against it, the mirror that this alternate Frankie had stepped from. A spiderweb of cracks shattered its face. The alternate Frankie exploded into jagged fragments of light that melted quickly into the air.

The real Frankie gasped. He mind zoomed back into his body, and he vomited from the inertia and the sudden sense of loss. His puke splattered the floor.

"No matter," the Parasite said to him. His chilling smile had returned. "I've fought those of you capable of making reflections. You weren't supposed to, but I can deal with this. It is nothing more than an annoyance."

"No," Frankie said. He gritted his teeth. "The mirrors are mine." He launched himself at another mirror, creating another reflection across the hallway from him. He reached up a hand; his fingertips met the fingertips of the reflection for the briefest of seconds. They both looked at the Parasite as he charged.

Frankie stepped back into the mirror. Another reflection, who stepped out behind the Parasite. And then again, creating another ahead of him. And another . . . and another . . . .

The reflections began to fight, Hammering the Parasite from all sides. He went for their mirrors, shattering them and their bodies. Sometimes he sank his claw-nails into a reflection's chest, and it shattered along with its mirror. As fast as he killed them, Frankie created them.

A purple bruise blossomed on the Parasite's cheek. Blood dribbled from his lip.

He ripped a reflection's heart out. Sank his teeth into a reflection's heart. Smashed one's head against its own mirror.

Frankie felt each death, like losing a part of himself. And he could still feel them. Phantom limbs: he'd heard them described this way. But he was gaining them quickly, and the birth of a new reflection did nothing to assuage the passing of an older one.

All the reflections closed in; the real Frankie joined them. An all-out assault, pressing against the Parasite, trying to crush him with bodies. Then he forced a circle of space around himself and he screamed.

It was like before, but the scream rose higher, raged longer, filled the labyrinth like a coursing river of ice. Mirrors shattered. Reflections vanished in blinding light. The real Frankie covered his ears and found himself yelling.

The Parasite's face drained even whiter, if possible, and he fell to his knees. He and Frankie locked eyes. Then Frankie stabbed him.

He left it in the eye socket: a broken fragment of glass. It had sliced the skin of Frankie's palm when he grabbed it. In a way, it was a sliver of one of his own reflections.

The Parasite tumbled over.

Frankie jerked gasping breaths into his lungs. He blinked, and the hallway returned to normal. All the mirrors were fixed. Little sign of the recent battle.

But Frankie's hand still bled. The Parasite's body still lay on the floor, blood pooling under it.

Frankie knew instinctively that he would be able to escape, now. He wanted to leave. But he had one thing left to do.

He stumbled down the hallways, not mirrorwalking, using his regular legs. The stench of rot grew stronger. Finally, he came upon the body of the girl. Another mirrowalker, the Parasite had said. A dead one. Although the stench was overpowering, Frankie stooped, hoisted her onto his shoulder, and slowly stood. She deserved a proper burial. Then, looking no more at the maze of mirrors, he stepped into the wall ahead of him.

He walked away from the Parasite's lair.

The Truth

All done with the mirrorwalker story. Thanks for reading! Sorry it took so long; another idea has seized me. It is simple and sad and insistent. I don't think I'll be posting any of it to this blog, however.

Whew! Have a good night.