Mirror, by Temaris

by Temaris

I remember -- I remember we, us, split and blended, fractured and whole.

In my dreams we slide through the mirror, pieces dancing seamlessly, interchangeably; lost, found, known, vanished.

I remember -- I remember touching her, and kissing her the lush sweet taste of her lips, the smooth skin, the soft, yielding flesh pressed against my aching body, not my ache, not my desire, pressing close against her, swimming in her fragrance; oh, and the harsh fabric of that labcoat, the brush of his half shaved face, rough under my lips, startled, tasting of too much coffee and not enough sleep. The smell of labs and creatures and sweat, and long nights eking the mysteries of the universe out of the small miracle of a mouse. And his uncomfortable resistance was a promise, a reminder that we -- I -- can do this again, I *will* do this again. I will not forget, shall never regret; and I'm afraid, this isn't right, this isn't right, wrong taste, wrong shape, wrong eyes ... back away, uncertain, afraid, didn't want it, twist away from. I can't remember, can't think who it was I would never forget, who was real, who was going to remember.

I remember -- I remember making my own army Barbie kit, clumsy stitches, formless pattern, kitted out in glory until Andy laughed and said girls couldn't be soldiers. I was so angry -- I could be anything, could be -- I remember the rush of scales under my hands and the way the notes ran down my back, cascading in mathematical precision through their cadences. I remember shouts ringing in my ears -- shouting back to my DI -- running in full kit, sweaty, breathing hard, cold air dragging through my lungs telling me I'm alive, run, running; gasping for air clutching at the stitch wrenching at my side, can't go on, hurts, it's coming, they're coming, no time, no time, the Wraith are looking for us, for the children, can't run, must run, oh god, we'll die, we'll die...

... the smell of culling. Scrimble scramble all bound up wrapped together, brains in a box, twins in a mind, conjoined at the everything--

Which one is me? Who remains? Where do we cut a beginning, and ending, an edge, a between, when all the lines have smudged and bled?

Rip us apart and the blood still stains.

The wrong face in the mirror, staring back at me, as frozen as I feel.

Fragments, lost, tumbling, I don't know you, I don't know you, I don't know who you are. I *know* you. Us. We. I know *us*. I am us -- no me; no you. No. Shattery, smeared minds wrenched against itself, peeling back the layers -- Be.

Un-be me.

Pieces ripped, crammed apart. Close enough. More or less in the right pieces, in the right places. Close enough. We'll talk about it in the morning. Box it up, fold it away, the stains hidden in the folds. Tissue frail, torn, jagged edged.

Closer.

Step outside of the memories, and be me.

Just... first? Tell me again: which side of the mirror am I standing?