Reflection of Tears
Jasmine230110802 陆相媛
The man in the mirror stared back at me, haggard and worn. His eyes, bloodshot and sunken into dark circles, gazed from beneath unkempt brows; stubble dotted his jawline. My trembling fingers traced the cold surface of the glass, meeting only the chill of my own failure.
Three months ago, I still had a name, a home, a life. Now I am huddled in this cheap motel room, gnawing on the bones of regret. It all began with that ancient book and my twelfth birthday.
The basement where I discovered the leather-bound tome smelled of dust and decay. Its pages, filled with crooked handwriting, described a method of magical cloning that required two mirrors facing each other, twelve birthday candles, and three sincere tears. That day, my parents had forgotten my birthday once again; only a cold cake that had been left by the housekeeper sat on the table.
“What if someone could live this tedious life for me?” The thought grew like weeds in my mind.
Late that night, I placed the mirrors opposite each other and lit the candles. Standing in the infinite tunnel of reflections, I remembered all the forgotten birthdays, and genuine tears fell. “By tears given form, by heart as guide, let the mirror’s shadow step outside.”
As the candlelight flickered and died, he stood there, wearing my pajamas, with the same stunned expression.
“Hello,” he said, his voice sounding as if he were using vocal cords for the first time.
I named him “Shadow” and set the rules: attend school for me, form no deep connections, remember you are only a tool. At first, it was perfect: A report cards, praise from teachers, rare approval from my parents. Meanwhile, I enjoyed stolen freedom in the basement.
The first crack appeared on a rainy day. Shadow returned home drenched, yet his eyes held a strange light. “Today, Mike invited me to his house. He said his mother makes delicious apple pie.”
“You’re a clone. You don’t need food or friends.”
He stood silently, water dripping from his hair. In that moment, his face showed not obedience but wounded confusion.
What truly changed everything was the rare dinner with both parents present. Flustered, I sent Shadow up in my place. “Stay ten minutes, then say you have a headache and leave,” I instructed.
The dinner lasted two hours. When Shadow returned, his face held a warmth like sun-warmed cotton. “Mother told stories about her performance in Vienna. Father said he’d take me to a baseball game this weekend.”
“Did you mention the headache?”
“I did, but Mother felt my forehead. Her hand was warm.”
“Shut up!” I snapped. “You shouldn’t feel these things!”
“Why not?” He met my gaze directly. “If I can feel, remember, and learn, how am I different from you?”
In the following weeks, Shadow began making friends, joined the science club, and even won a math competition award— in my name. Mother remarked, “Darling, you seem so much brighter lately.” Father gave “me” a rare pat on the shoulder.
Meanwhile, the real me watched from the basement as my life blossomed in another’s hands.
On the eve of my birthday, I resolved to perform the reversal ritual described in the book. But Shadow knew.
“You intend to erase me,” he stated calmly.
“You’re not real!”
“What is real?” He stepped closer. “I’ve tasted the apple pie Mike’s mother made. I’ve learned baseball rules. When Mother hugged me, it felt like being accepted by the whole world.” Tears shimmered in his eyes. “You created me, but what gave me a soul were the moments you never cherished.”
“That’s my life!”
“You surrendered it,” he whispered. “Now it has found a more fitting owner.”
On the morning of my birthday, I woke tied to a chair in the basement. Shadow stood before me, holding the ancient book. “It says here: ‘If the creation overcomes the creator, the creator’s existence shall fade like morning mist.’”
“You’re not alive! You’re my shadow!”
“Everyone is someone’s shadow,” he replied, “until they find their own light.”
