There’s more to mirrors than you know
The Other Side
Seven Days
What if I told you that there’s a world beyond your mirror? What if I told you that everything you think you know is wrong. What if I told you that on the other side of the mirror, there’s an almost exact copy of your world, with small differences that changed a lot in the timeline?
What if I told you I’m stuck in the wrong world?
To be entirely honest, I’m not quite sure how it happened. It just did. One second I was me, walking down the street towards another endlessly boring day of school, then I was me, walking down a street in the dark, sirens in the distance, scared out of my mind.
It’s been seven days, thirteen hours, and about twenty-four minutes, since that happened. And I still don’t know how it happened, or how to get home.
What’s different here? Well for starters, they elected a different president than us, and he sucks. Pollution is taking it’s toll much faster than my world, they now rely on artificial sunlight. Science has had more advancements, cancer doesn’t exist. But countries have been ravaged by war and poverty, more than my world.
Oh, and in this world. I’m supposed to be dead.
According to my robot friend named Jim, I’ve been dead for three days. Here, I was the son of a famous engineer. In my world, I’m the son of no one, an orphan trying to make their way through foster care.
A lot is different here, basically there were a bunch of small changes to the timeline that made for huge differences in the world that people know and hate today.
There’s a knock on the door and I turn, a girls face appears at the top of the stairs. Her name is Maise, back home, she’s my only friend. That hasn’t changed in this world.
“I brought food,” she says, handing me an apple.
“Any news?” I ask, taking a bite of the apple.
She shakes her head, “we should ask my dad, or better yet, yours,” she says.
“No!” I protest, “I shouldn’t be here, besides, you said they might kill me!”
“They might, but you also might spend the rest of your life in this basement with a robot as your only company!” she says.
Jim beeps.
“Jim is good company,” I say, protectively.
She sighs and shakes her head, she’s pretty similar to the Maise I know, but as far as I can tell, I’m way different than I was here.
“You don’t have to help me,” I say, looking back down at the blueprints on the table and pretending to study them intently, though I have no idea how to read blueprints.
“Then how are you going to get home?” she asks.
“I can do it on my own,” I say, annoyed now. I take another bite of the apple but it tastes bitter. Most of the food here is genetically engineered, apparently it’s been like this for years.
“No you can’t,” she says, knowing full well I’m nothing like the person she knew. She gives me a sympathetic look and puts a hand on my shoulder, “Harlow-“
I push her hand away, “stop it, I’m not the Harlow you know. I’m different than he was, you don’t know me, you knew him.”
I can tell from the look in her eyes that I’ve hurt her, but I don’t care at the moment. All I want is to get home.
“I know that,” she says, her voice icy, “but that doesn’t mean that I don’t know at least a little bit about you. You have been hiding out in my basement for a week.”
I smile, and she does too. Tears still sting my eyes, and it’s far too cold in the basement to be comfortable, but it’s always nice to have someone on your side.
I collapse onto the floor and put my head in my hands, “how am I going to get home?” I ask.
She sits down beside me and puts a hand on my shoulder again, “I don’t know, which is why I want to talk to my dad, or yours.”
 “He’s not my dad,” I say, “my dad is dead.”
“I know, but here, he’s your dad. Here, he’s alive. Here, he might be able to help!”
“Please,” I say, my voice shaking, “stop pushing for this.”
 She doesn’t say anything, maybe it’s my tone of voice, but she nods to show she understands.
“Then there’s another option,” she says, quietly. And I can tell by her tone that she didn’t want it to come to this.
“What is it?” I ask, looking up. I’m desperate, I just want to get home.
“It’s dangerous,” she says.
“I don’t care.”

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