This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. 

Copyright © 2015 by horizonless

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Basically, this is my idea and if you copy it i will end you :---)


I open my eyes, expecting to be laying down on a bed of broken glass, But, to my surprise, I'm only laying peacefully on the floor, as if I haven't rammed myself in the really old mirror just a minute ago. I look around and notice something very strange about the apartment. The artsy painting I kept on the wall is now facing the right, when before, I'm certain it was facing the opposite direction. I stand up, and immediately, everything feels wrong. The nagging paranoia at the back of my mind a few hours ago resurfaces and intensifies about a thousand times. This isn't the apartment, but it is at the same time.

A voice behind me almost makes me jump all the way to the ceiling. "Are you okay, Ave?"

I turn to look at Ashton. There's something strange about him. He's wearing his old black-rimmed glasses, a fluffy white pullover I never knew he owned, and it looks as if this boy doesn't have an ounce of negativity in him. Which is so weird because we've been having constant fights for the past few days. "When did you get home? And why did you change your clothes?" I ask, pointing to his pullover.

He furrows his eyebrows at me and eyes his clothes. "I didn't leave the apartment? And um, I didn't change my clothes?"

Confusion dawns all over me as I continue to look at Ashton with a puzzled look. I spin around on the spot, carefully observing every single memory I have of the apartment before I accidentally ran into the mirror. At the back of my mind, I know some things weren't supposed to be the way they currently are, and oh, that chair shouldn't be like that, and why the fuck is that there? I glance one more time at Ashton—but this time, it's a look of pure realization and disbelief. I run into our bedroom and inwardly gasp at the bare walls. That's not supposed to be like that. Where are Ashton's heavy metal posters? And why is there a bookshelf in the corner filled with fantasy books I've never seen in my whole life?

"Avery, are you okay?" Ashton repeats. He's at the door, his face contorted into a look of utter confusion. But I bet it wouldn't amount to mine.

I know something is very wrong here. I'm certain. And then I realize that this, whatever this is, is not my world.

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