[ WP ] Your shadow and your reflection become self-aware .

They ’ ve begun talking to each other. 
 
 Others give me a strange look these days. It ’ s fine if they think I am crazy. My perennial fear is that they *know* that I am being haunted. Because once they know it, *they* know it too. And once *they* become aware, there ’ s no going back. 
 
 I tossed all the mirrors at home. Seven years of bad luck and all – I couldn ’ t care less. Reflections are easier because I need to look in order for them to come alive. But it doesn ’ t help that there are so many reflective surfaces in our lives. Water and glass are things that I run into all the time. I jump each time I spot my reflection. Normally, he scowls at me. 
 
 My reflection exists on the other side. *He* can not touch me unless I touch the surface while looking at *him*. Sometimes he bangs the fleshy part of his fist on the glass as a taunt and an attempt to hold my attention a little bit longer. 
 
 I don ’ t stare at the bath water as I step in anymore. You get the idea. 
 
 Now, the shadow is the tricky one because *he* exists as long as I exist. *He* follows me everywhere, all the time. Thankfully, my shadow does not act without provocation. 
 
 Only in total darkness does *he* sleep. So I sleep in total darkness these days. It ’ s not as scary as I thought it would be. I got used to it once I figured out where everything was. 
 
 It was mighty helpful that my girlfriend thought I was going mad and broke up with me. Otherwise, there would have been no way to shrug off my shadow. When I imagine *him* watching me as I slept, it sends shivers down my spine. The other part of it, of course, is that I began noticing my reflection in her lovely eyes. *He* sneered when I did, pressing *his* face hard against the other side of her eyes as if *he* could break into this world if *he* tried hard enough. 
 
 If her eyes are the windows to her soul, then I had injected *him* into her soul in those moments. It was a ghastly thought. 
 
 But like I said, lately they ’ ve begun communicating. 
 
 My reflection is planting ideas into my shadow: ideas of rebellion, of how *he* would unshackle my shadow if *he* crossed over to take charge of the body while I took *his* place on the other side of things, where I wouldn ’ t exist without *his* attention. 
 
 I didn ’ t even know what unshackling my shadow meant. But lately *he ’ s* been acting strange, occasionally taking up shapes and sizes that physics does not dictate. And my reflection has been laughing brazenly whenever I see *him*. They ’ re driving me nuts. 
 
 
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