A teenager.
Portland. Twenty twenty-five. October seventeenth.
My friends dared me to play Bloody Mary. Stupid, right? Lights out, candle lit, three whispers. I said no. Then I said yes because no one wants to be the chicken.
People pay me to make them shine. I tease, I spray, I polish until the camera loves them. But lately the mirrors love them too much.
Mirror Mirror: Day Twelve – The Officer continues the 31-day October cycle, where every surface might be watching back.
You’ve been pretending this is coincidence. Stress, tricks of the light, too much coffee, not enough sleep. You stack excuses like sandbags. You pray they’ll hold.
Mirror Mirror is a 31-day audio fiction cycle running through October — one haunting voice each day, whispering from the world beyond the glass.
People pay me to make them shine. I tease, I spray, I polish until the camera loves them. But lately the mirrors love them too much.
Mirror Mirror: Day Twelve – The Officer continues the 31-day October cycle, where every surface might be watching back.
Long hauls blur you. Highway, sky, diner, repeat. My cab’s full of mirrors—rearview, side, little blind-spot bubbles. I check them without thinking. Habit. Survival.
Mirror Mirror is a 31-day audio fiction cycle running through October — one haunting voice each day, whispering from the world beyond the glass.
People pay me to make them shine. I tease, I spray, I polish until the camera loves them. But lately the mirrors love them too much.
Mirror Mirror: Day Twelve – The Officer continues the 31-day October cycle, where every surface might be watching back.
