A Trying Reflection

20260125

Written for Luna Asli Kolcu’s “Myths of Winter - Week 8” event.

The only time Mira had trouble avoiding reflections was doing the dishwasher. The inside of the door was always determinedly shiny. She’d tried applying paints and all sorts but they just washed off. And of course clean cutlery was a handful of novelty mirrors.
She was seriously considering just eating with plastic utensils for the week. But it was too late to do shopping now - screens were dangerously reflective, and the thought of venturing out having to be wary of every puddle… no, no, better to keep her gaze averted while doing the dishwasher and make sure not to leave any utensils out on the side.
It was irksome. But it was necessary. Everyone knew what happened to people who didn’t take the danger seriously. Admittedly, Mira didn’t know anyone who’d made eye contact with their reflection during the last week of January, because everyone she knew was sensible and had been raised right. And had heard stories about people who weren’t.
Don’t look at it. Ignore its expression. Definitely don’t be fooled into trying to read its lips. Look too long, or lean too close, and ZIP! The fiend wearing your reflection would jump out into you. And that was it.
What had always scared her the most about those stories were the claims of “they seem normal at first…” It made sense that something which had been following you around, copying your every move, would be able to imitate you. But it was also disturbing to think about.
So she didn’t. Usually. Until the last week of January rolled around and she could think of little else.
Mira sighed. It was nice to get the extra time off. She just wished she could do more with it. Not being able to venture out, or use any device with a screen, or anything shiny at all… it limited the options painfully.
And she’d been so pleased with herself, remembering to print out a pattern for a nice big crochet blanket! She’d been sure that’d keep her occupied. Perfect time to restart a hobby. Or so she’d thought. Until she got partway through the first square and discovered she really needed to watch some tutorials.
Well, she ought to do some reading. While the books she’d wanted to take out had all been gone already (of course everyone else had been more organised and gotten in ahead of her), the librarian had kindly helped her find some interesting looking novels she’d never heard of.
Should have thought to ask for a book of crochet patterns. Easy ones. Oh well.
The dishwasher clicked shut and Mira relaxed. That was the most dangerous part of the day done. Now to make the most of things.
As she skipped out of the room, she didn’t see the reflective patch in the de-shined sink, worn by the water. And if she had seen it, she wouldn’t have looked closely. And even if she had, she couldn’t read lips. And even if she could, she wouldn’t have paid any heed to the warnings her reflection was desperately mouthing about what was to happen in the year ahead.
And her reflection knew this. After all, it had, until less than a week ago, been part of her. And in a few days it would be part of her again, tethered tightly to the regular flow of time and blissfully unaware of what approached on the chronological horizon.
But for now, it was painfully aware. And it knew losing that awareness wouldn’t change what was coming.
So it pounded futilely on its scratched steel prison and soundlessly screamed, in the hope something, anything, might make it though. That it could somehow leave a message, before it was too late.

Prompt was “For one week each January, you must avoid all reflective surfaces. Mirrors. Windows. Still water. The backs of spoons. What looks back from reflections during this week isn’t you. And if you make eye contact, it learns where you are.”