The moment I stepped into my uncle’s home, I headed straight to my room and walked
up to the mirror, ignoring my uncle playing with his shotgun. You never know when he’ll
start shooting the innocent. Suddenly, my uncle opened up my door and stared at me with
his cold eyes. He was drenched in sweat as he held his bejeweled cane in one hand and his
shotgun in the other. Whenever I looked at him, it gave me the creeps. I could feel cold sweat
trickling down my back. My uncle looked at my baseball hat, started to laugh uncontrollably,
and snatched away the one thing that reminded me of who I really am. I instantly leaped towards the hat. Then my uncle, abruptly and compulsively, held up his shotgun and shot the
mirror. The mirror shattered into pieces, causing harsh fractals of glass to fly all over my room.
I shielded my face with my hands, but through the spaces between my fingers I saw that my
uncle threw my baseball hat outside the window. He had a smirk that signaled victory as he
sat down on the floor and continued to laugh.
I ran down the stairs and kicked the front door open. I saw my baseball hat lying on the
front porch and sat down next it. I couldn’t let anyone take my hat away; it was my only possession that reminded me of when I was happy. When I picked up the hat, a piece of glass
from the shattered mirror fell out. I looked at the shattered glass and found another teenager
looking back at me. I didn’t recognize who the teenager was. The teenager was looking back
at me with sleep-deprived eyes, messy hair, and a unique diamond-shaped birthmark right
above their right eye just like me. Who could this teenager really be? When I looked more
closely into the mirror, the teenager in the mirror copied me. It was like we were meeting eyeto-eye in real life. The teenager’s face was drenched in tears, the eyes that looked back at me
were as black as ebony and it was almost as if we shared the same depression that I’m going
through now. We both seemed lost and I could tell that we both looked like we did not know
who we were. I tilted my head from the mirror and the teenager in the mirror also tilted its
head. Astounded, I asked the mirror,
“Who are you and what am I doing here?”
The figure in the mirror answered back, “You are me and you are here to be you.”
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Antonio Stark | design