Dark Mirrors

I debated about posting this as a [S] dream, since it is pretty much non-fiction, but decided not to for some arbitrary reason (or lack thereof).

The dark shouldn’t be scary. We know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there is no logical reason to be frightened by the mere absence of light. Of course, there are always the circumstantial dangers that get associated with the dark that can, truly, happen just as frequently in daylight.
Getting up in the middle of the night for something as simple as going to the bathroom has no innate danger. You might trip on something on the floor, but this is an easy problem to overcome, and, again, really has nothing to do with the dark.
You relieve yourself, trying to not look into the darkness that fogs the area near your feet. It isn’t there – really, it is just a lack of something. Nothing to worry about. You dispel any fears – irrational ones, to be sure – that arise before they even truly come to your conscious mind. Something deep within knows the truth, that there isn’t anything to fear, and uses that knowledge to protect your delicate conscious mind, more delicate now than ever because you have just awakened, and most of your mental capabilities are disabled in the cloud of sleep and dreams.
You wash your hands, looking into the mirror. The mirror holds nothing to fear, also, as doesn’t the dark, but somehow the combination breaks through your subconscious walls and makes it way to concern in your wakeful mind. What is hidden in the dark behind me? The darkness that I am unable to see outside of the reflective surface of the mirror? Is the mirror really me? Is it just the few photons that ricochet off of my body, to the mirror, and into my eyes, or is there something more? Something hiding in the mirror itself? What?
You pull yourself away from the mirror, forcing yourself to abandon those thoughts, but are immediately confronted with another mirror, that full-size mirror that stands just outside the bathroom for some unknowable reason. The thoughts come rushing back.
You wish to run, but that subconscious part of you that sometimes speaks to your mind tells you that there, still, is nothing to fear. You walk, forcing each step by step, back into your room, resist the urge to leap into your bed and pull the covers as far up as possible, over your body, over your head, over your eyes, as fast as you can. The subconscious speaks again, but you ignore it. You don’t care how childish it may seem. Maybe, in reality, the children, doing the childish things, are the ones who can see those things that hide in the dark behind you.
You jump into bed – quietly, for who knows what the sound could wake! – and pull the blankets and covers up over you. You’re safe. The dark shouldn’t be scary. But it is.


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