MIRRORS AND MORE MIRRORS

Toby wakes up for work at 7:08 and trudges into the bathroom to pee. Once finished, he dodges the scale for the nineteenth day in a row and looks in the mirror. In his bathroom there are mirrors on two walls, in front and behind, so each time he gathers the courage to look at himself he sees a corridor of clones retreating off into infinity. But a single look this morning makes him feel like steamrolled shit, so to take his mind off his bloated, disgusting body, he leans toward the mirror and examines a coarse black hair spiking out of his right nostril. All his clones do the same thing, all except one about ten universes back. The rogue clone stares at Toby with disgust as Toby stands inches from the mirror, looking up his nose. Then the rogue clone bends down, picks up a bucket of fried chicken, and crunches into a drumstick. As Toby watches him chomp away, his lips slicked with grease, fat beads of sweat start scudding down Toby’s forehead. A cold tingle spreads to the ends of Toby’s fingers. A sharp pain shoots through his left arm. His heart thuds like a boulder rolling down a hill. Gasping for breath, Toby watches as his clones crumple to the floor, dead, until only him and the rogue clone are still standing. The rogue clone stares at Toby for a long time, sucking shining strips of dark meat off the bone of his drumstick. The rogue clone drops the bone to the floor of his universe, where it clinks against something hard and metal. Then he reaches into the bucket and picks up another drumstick. Toby grasps the edge of the sink with both hands and tries to take a deep breath, but he hardly gets any air. The rogue clone mouths something and gestures at Toby’s naked body with the fat end of his drumstick. Toby can’t make out the words, but he nods anyway.

Just before his legs buckle beneath him, Toby lowers himself to the floor and stares up at the ceiling. A silky gray spider web clings to the grille of the overhead ventilation fan. Toby slurps a shallow, trembling breath. A frighteningly large, yellow and black spider slowly descends from the network of webs threaded between the tines of the grille. Toby tries to swat it away, but he doesn’t have the strength to lift his arms. Moments before the spider touches down, Toby stretches his neck to the side and glances in the mirror above the sink. There he sees the rogue clone standing in the universe right next to his own, going to town on a foot-long Philly cheesesteak. Toby’s stomach grumbles angrily as it fills with more junk food. The spider lands on the front of Toby’s shoulder. Finally understanding the fractured logic of his situation, Toby leans his head back and offers his neck to the spider. A hot, sharp sting sears the flesh just below his chin. Tongues of cold fire engulf his neck, his head, his shoulders, his chest. Toby looks in the mirror and waits for the rogue clone to claw at his throat. To choke on his cheesesteak. For his face to turn purple and swell up like a balloon. But the rogue clone takes another huge bite of his cheesesteak and points at Toby’s neck. Toby tries to lower his head, but he can’t. A hard, painful blister the size of a lemon is in the way. Toby glances in the mirror again. The rogue clone shrugs and mashes the remaining stump of his cheesesteak into his mouth. He walks away. A heavy metal door opens and then clangs shut. A hairline fracture sprouts in the center of the mirror. Toby closes his eyes and tries to take a breath. Jewels of milky sweat pool on the cold tile floor.

by Steve Gergley

Steve Gergley is a writer and runner from Warwick, New York. His fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Atticus Review, Cleaver Magazine, Hobart, Pithead Chapel, Maudlin House, and others. In addition to writing fiction, he has composed and recorded five albums of original music. His fiction can be found at: https://stevegergleyauthor.wordpress.com/