Mirrorworld

A narrow breeze works its way through the leaves in the trees. Little white clouds coast and cause the afternoon brightness to dampen from time to time; their shadows drift silently over the ground as the world slowly spins. From the man-made shade of a second-story balcony I am lulled by the languid parade.

A modest lunch sits on the table, half-eaten. The other ten-odd tables are spaced-out haphazardly, their chairs unencumbered; the visible world from this spot and at this instant lay uninhabited. I, alone with the moment, begin to feel that it is my own.

The roof-line bows out from behind me in a wide-angled curve; the wall of glass that lines the patio reflects in panorama the world that lies before. I glance to my left and note the clarity of the image, an inverse courtyard running out alongside the building in a graceful arc. At first what appears as a mirror image begins to feel separate somehow. Even my own reflection bears a slight suspicion - I can't help but regard it as a person of uncanny resemblance rather than my own hollow echo. I close my eyes to dispel the perturbing sensation and a floating feeling seems to settle. I breathe out, then in, with a firm grip on the arms of my chair. I remain, for a moment, with my eyes closed. All is calm and silent, all seems well.

I open my eyes and find myself facing the other direction. My view is the same, but now I must look to the right to see my reflection in the window. It does not return my gaze. What now seems a former-self sits motionless beyond the glass, eyes open yet fixed, evidently lost in the depth of a thought. Although struck by the strangeness I remain curiously calm. This mirror-image of the world is wholly silent and still. I inhale and the air has no smell; the chair and table are solid but my sense of touch is numbed somehow. "Approach the railing and look to the east," I think to myself, and this strange twin of a body follows suit.  Apart from my own orientation the scene remains exactly as before: an empty courtyard, green with young trees and lined by buildings of uniformly speckled brick. The clouds continue to coast; their shadows drift. Again I turn, to catch my reflection staring...but he sits as before, unaware that a part of himself is missing, entirely unaware that he is being watched from a short distance.