Glass baby blue eyes stare back at me when I wake. I scramble back and she mimics me. Bloodied white curls swing around her head in a mangled mess. I turn to run. Those blue eyes gaze back. I lift my fist thrusting it at her. Glass shatters slicing my hand and arm.
As my heart rate slows I spin in a half circle. A half circle is enough to make my insides squirm. Mirrors reflect every inch of me from the eyes that aren’t mine to the hair that isn’t mine to the frilly dress that isn’t mine. I wipe my hand against my mouth, but the pink lipstick doesn’t smear. I claw at it until my lips rip open. Amusement gleams in her eyes, my eyes.
“Help! Jessy, help!” My throat aches and my head pounds and I have to get out.
I rip a frill from my dress and wrap the fabric around my bloody fingers. I stare down the “Not Me” in the mirror. Her eyes glisten. I dare you. Right between those arrogant eyes I smash it. Then again and again. Turn and smash. The mirrors explode in a rain of glass.
As the debris settles my hands run along the wall searching for a hidden door. But it’s smooth concrete. I glance up. The concrete ceiling presses down on me.
Pop! The fluorescent light burns out. A deep breathing, sightless dark fills the room. Cold hands clench my wrists and darkness swallows my scream.