not your shadow

I’m standing on a mirror.

Everything turns upside down, as does the mirror. The scene corrects and everything is the right way up. The first thing you saw was just a reflection.  

A clone of myself comes up behind me, barely visible against the void.

He unsheathes a sword, and with his free hand places a knife to my neck. The action leaves me disinterested.

With a sharp turn of his neck, he retreats into the shadows.

My original self seems to come to and turns around suspiciously, pointing his own knife into the darkness.

Everything warps and the vision of nothingness blurs into a shadowy circle of figures surrounding me.

Chains attached to the ankles of each clone drag across the ground.

The circle of figures close their formation inward, black hands grasping firmly at my body as they pull me back. Lights flash, lighting up the swarm of figures shifting around the room. Blood drips in reverse up the arm that bled it, my fist closes slowly.

A blackened hand creeps up my neck, two fingers descending into my mouth so I can’t breathe, can’t scream. The fingers withdraw, extracting a deluge of blood from my jaws which streams down my frame. My eyes are as black as the murk I stand in.

The scene cuts. My original self lies dead on the floor, cradled by a lone clone. The remaining circle of figures stand around us before dissipating slowly. The clone holding me caresses my gore covered face before standing, dagger in hand, and draws back with the rest.