Who Stares Back at You

“A hundred fils? For this?” the shopkeeper spits and shakes his head. The dry air has cracked his lips. I can see them bleed as he gives them a lick.

My hands are doing no better than his lips, though. The skin is red and worn. It won't be long until they're spurting blood, too. I think this as I dig deeper into the front pocket of my bag, rubbing around until I find a stray herb I must have missed. I toss it onto the rest of the pile, which tips the weight to a solid 450 grams.

"A whole set," I say. "You can only find these up in the Black-Tip mountains. There are bears there. No sane person would go foraging on their own. You can sell them for twice that for all I care. A hundred."

He clicks his tongue and scoffs, then rings up the till. Its bell dings, aggravating my ever present headache. Maybe I should have saved one of those herbs for myself.

With the money having now swapped places with the herbs in my bag, I give a hum of begrudging thanks and leave. This should be enough to cover our late tax for this month, even once I give my working partner her share. Gathering herbs is a dangerous job. There aren't many people willing to do it. Because of the oppressive fog and wild animals, we always go in pairs.

Outside, the air cuts me like a whip. Cold winds are the final straw on my hands, and blood begins to drip out. Maybe I should ask Elyna for some gloves. Furnace tenders probably have some good ones.

As for the town itself, the sun is beginning to set. Unless you have a night job, any person with sense is on their way home about now. I don't envy the former. Hiking around bear territory has a chance of death, but working in the factories has a higher one. In the morning, I can hear the coughing of those who've spent decades of toil breathing in fumes.

With a practiced gait, I take a turn down an alley in the opposite direction of my house, keeping my head straight forward and making sure it looks like I know where I'm going. I pass a few people on their way home, some looking more worn, and others like me with a sense of purpose. Today is one of the few days a month I have one of those.

The alleys are tight, despite how small our population is. Right, left, left, right, left, right, turning corners away from the shop. I reach into my bag, the back pocket this time. Leafy thorns give me a comforting prick. My pulse soars.

Money? Food? As if I could afford to hide away something like that. No, it was far more simple.

Reaching the final street, I'm satisfied to see there's no one else here. I go to a familiar wall on the back of a building. Crouching down, I pull aside the rock I'd put to hide the crack there. Inside, there's a pile of dried herbs matching the ones still left in my bag.

Mera's Spine was made illegal to sell some time ago. I'm not sure why, as its painkilling effects aren't any sort of dangerous, though it is quite strong. But over the last few months I've heard rumors there are plans of reintroducing it into the market. This amount I've saved now should be enough to cover our taxes and other necessities for a few months.

I gently place the Mera's Spine I collected yesterday into the crack in the wall and cover it again with the rock. My heart can't seem to calm down. It's not illegal to possess on its own, but this amount could surely get me in trouble.

Once I stand back up, I stretch and rub my hands together. It's far too cold and dry, even for Ikalla.

Elyna should be home by now. There's no need for me to think about what we'll be having for dinner, so my thoughts simply wander as I retrace my steps back through the alleys. I take one turn, then another. And then—

"You there."

A muffled voice calls from the street perpendicular to mine.

My muscles are as frozen as the air. I swallow and steady my expression for when I turn to face them. I'm just walking home, I repeat in my head. I got a little side-tracked with… something? What? What? Right, yes, I happened to see a stray cat I followed down the alleys.

I turn to look. And…

Huh?

Brown hair.

"What are you doing here?"

Blue eyes.

I barely understand the muffled voice. It sounds so far away. I… what…

Wide nose.

That face. It…

Round jaw.

Whose face is that?

"I said, what are you doing here?"

As I open my mouth, the man staring back copies me. I reel, taking a few steps back until I trip over a box and fall to the ground.

Who is that who is that who is that?

The delivery man with someone else's face walks closer, reaching for his baton. Every inch his fingers move towards it, my head throbs even harder.

"I… was just heading home," I squeak out.

Why? Why is the man looking at me moving his mouth at the same time?

"And where is home?"

"…" My mouth is clamped shut. I can't speak. If I do, what if that man opens his mouth again? Why would he be speaking at the same time I am?

A sigh, and then the delivery man's hand grabs his baton.

My head keeps throbbing. What is this? Why does it hurt so much?

Oh, I think. That's right. I was hit in the head the other day. Hahahahahahahaha.

I cover my mouth. The man staring back at me does the same. Why?

Why?

I can't stand for this stranger to speak the same thing as me again.

"P… past the cobbler on Shall Street," I say. The man looking back at me keeps his hand over his mouth. His fingers are pressed so tight they are scratching his face.

An eternity passes. The fingers against my face start to grow numb. Pain from my head has reached the back of my eyes. It burns.

The delivery man puts his baton away, breaking the spell of perpetuity. "Go home," he says. "It's getting dark.

My hand trembles over my mouth. I need to keep it there. It feels like I'm going to be sick.

Why though? Why am I so afraid? It's only a stranger. Who.

Who copies everything I do.

A stranger who looks back at me from the mirror.