The Mirror

I found myself at an antique shop. A place I have no interest in being in. I was compelled beyond reason to enter. The door was hiding a darkness I had never seen before. Not quite gray, not quite black, but dimly lit enough to beckon one inside looking for treasures once lost waiting to be found.

I reached for the handle; it felt cold like ice. As I opened the door the wind rushed passed me as if the building itself had been suffocating and suddenly gasped for air. I could smell the remnants of decay, flesh once living now rotting in a corner. My hair crawled across my skin like a spider hiding from the light. Each step stuck to the floor in what looked to be a thin layer of half-coagulated blood. Each step I took sounded like a heartbeat keeping this shop alive.

I looked around and he caught my eye. He looked just like me. Perfect. Reflected. Still. Then I moved, he moved. A mirror, but not any mirror. This was a mirror from old, made of quartz and quicksilver. The likes of which scryers would use to capture the essence of your soul and predict life events.  The handle and frame were made from Obsidian so black, it captured the light and absorbed it into nothingness. It was as if the handle and frame were a portal into never-ending darkness. My reflection was precise, as if the mirror were a modern-day high-definition display screen and not an actual reflection. This mirror had a conscience; it stared back. I had to have it.

I approached the shop keeper. He was dressed in a button up long-sleeve black shirt and equally as black pants. His shoulder-length black hair covered his face like thick dry, brittle threads caked in mud. He smelled of marijuana and body odor that was so pungent I momentarily lost my breath as I stepped backwards to lessen my exposure to the stench.

“How much for the mirror?” I asked.

“Money cannot buy this mirror,” he replied.

“What will you take?”

“A promise, written and binding.” he said with a voice not from his mouth but from the air around him.

“And what shall the terms of the promise be?” I asked.

“You will never look into the mirror after midnight, and you will never return the mirror to me.”

I paused. The room grew still with eager anticipation of my reply.

“I agree.” After all, what use had I for a mirror at midnight?

Desire is an interesting thing. Desire has raised empires and torn them down. It has driven men to pursue what cannot be obtained. Once you hear its call, your senses are sharpened, fixated on the quest it dictates. Desire called to me that night, rousing me from my slumber. “Look into the mirror,” it said. I heard its call like sirens seducing sailors to meet their demise on the reefs jagged rocks.

I picked up the mirror. The black obsidian handle warm to the touch as if blood pulsed through its veins. It felt like skin, soft, subtle, inviting. My reflection stared back at me. Then I noticed it. It breathed when I did not. It blinked though I had not. It smiled though I did not.

Then it spoke.

“I’m you. You are a reflection of me caught in time.”

I sat frozen, unable to speak.

As much as I desired to put the mirror down, it clung to my hand as if it had tentacles that wrapped around my fingers and wrist, refusing to let go. The room grew cold, but the mirror provided warmth and comfort unrivaled by anything I had known.  I heard the echoes of my breathing and heartbeat. The room smelled of freshly cut grass. The mirror had seduced all my senses.  Parting with it felt like losing myself, and the safety it offered.

The mirror spoke again.

“You are a reflection of a reflection. You only exist because I am observing you. When I stop observing, you cease to exist.”

The words sank into me like hooks. I understood. The Observer Effect. The idea that the universe does not exist until it is seen. When you are not looking behind you, there is nothing there. An infinite void. Blackness. Nonexistence.

Could it be true? Could I be nothing more than a thought in the mirror’s mind? No life. No death. Just the silence of nonexistence.

And in that moment, I knew: I had never existed at all.