The Stranger in My Photos 30: The Wrong Me
The stranger didn’t let go. His grip tightened — too strong, too real — and I felt something pull. Not my arm. Me.
It was like he was peeling me out of my own skin.
The other me — the calm one — started to fade. His eyes didn’t look calm anymore. They looked sorry. He mouthed something I couldn’t hear.
Then he was gone.
The stranger leaned in, face inches from mine. His skin shifted again, warping until it was perfectly, horrifyingly me.
But not quite.
His eyes were off. Darker. Hungrier. Like something wearing a mask it wasn’t finished making.
My phone buzzed in my hand again, screen cracked and flickering.
"Thanks for the spot."
Before I could react, he shoved me.
Hard.
I didn’t fall into darkness this time. I fell into light.
Blinding, burning light that swallowed everything. My head pounded, my stomach flipped, and the world snapped back into place — hard and sudden, like waking from a nightmare you’re not sure was a dream.
I was standing in my room.
The bed was made. My phone charger was neatly wrapped on the nightstand. Everything was exactly how I left it.
Except the mirror.
The glass wasn’t shattered anymore. It was clean, spotless, and the reflection staring back at me wasn’t moving.
It wasn’t me.
It looked like me — perfectly. But its eyes… they were wrong. Too dark. Too still.
My phone buzzed one last time. The screen barely lit up through the cracks.
"Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it."
My reflection smiled.
I didn’t.

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👌🏿👌🏿👌🏿, read up!!more can't come up for now....
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Nice write up 😊😊
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