A Case of Time-Travelling Shorts

Reflections

The circus is coming to town again. It's been so long, but I want you to promise me you'll stay away. The smells will entice you, like they always did. They'll waltz past your house on the warm summer breeze, calling you to join them. But you mustn't. The sweet smell of cotton candy and burgers, of candy apples and popcorn, all mixing into one magnificent scent that will permeate through the town. It'll smell safe, something besides dust to breathe into your lungs. I know you'll be able to see the lights from across the field that your family owns. I beg you, just sit on the veranda and watch the sun sink behind the Ferris wheel. Watch the stars as they come out of hiding, so I can pretend that we are stargazing together again.

 

I haven't seen you since the last time the circus visited. I've never liked circuses, but somehow you convinced me to go through those cheap gold-plated gates with you. It must've been that gap-toothed smile of yours. I endured it all: clowns that leered, acrobats defying death, strange tents filled with stranger people. You handed me a bunny with a red ribbon tied around its neck, a prize you'd won by shooting tin alien cut-outs. Do you remember? I promised I'd keep it forever, stoked the soft, velveteen fur as the clouds above us burnt a brilliant orange in the sunset. I wish we'd left then. Before we saw that awful sign. 'Dare to enter the mirror maze!' It said. The hum of the circus led us on: drifting carousel music and flashing light displays. We never stood a chance. I clutched my bunny's ears tight in one hand, and grabbed your hand for reassurance. For once, I wish we'd been less fearless.

 

We entered together, into that reflected death trap. A long, covered tent where the smell of sweat mingled with the dust underfoot. Everything was cloaked with haunting shadows, and thousands of versions of you and me lurked across the walls. I know the route like the back of my hand nowadays, but at the time we didn't know how to get through. Time'll do that. You declared a race, and we sprinted off in opposite directions. I remember it vividly, your hair flying behind you like a shot out of a movie, your sneakers sending up dust clouds into the warm summer air. I should've followed you.

 

Wrong turns and dead ends awaited me. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. I felt like I was being followed. Every time I stopped to get my bearings, a tapping sound would ring out through the maze- like someone was knocking against the mirror directly behind me. I thought it was you. But then I realized I could no longer see your reflection. I was alone, with only my own reflection for company. Heart pounding, I spun around, and came face-to-face with a trick mirror. I saw myself warped: with a hideous heavy ridged brow and mangled, jarring teeth. My reflection towered over me: long torso, stunted legs. My eyes burned back into mine with rage, and for the first time that night, I felt fear. My reflection seemed malignant, and that scared me more than any of the stories I'd heard by a campfire. I tried to reassure myself, so I smiled at the mirror. It didn't smile back. Instead, it reached a club-fisted hand and tapped on the glass. It cracked.

I miss you. I've been gone for far too long, being carted from place to place, trapped from reality behind a pane of glass. Part of me wonders if anyone noticed that I never left the circus that night. I watched as you walked out with my doppelganger, while I threw myself at the glass, screaming, unable to get out. It still hurts that you didn't notice. How could you not notice that it wasn't me? Didn't you notice my ribboned rabbit, lying abandoned on the ground? So please, don't come to the circus tonight. I don't think I could bear it.