Author: Anonymous

Date: November 22nd, 4679

Subject: "Ego Dead"

Between now and my last written record, I made one final expedition back to the city. The air is barely breathable anymore, I'm using my DIY spacesuit full-time now. What did I want from the city? Just some things to amuse myself with and things to insulate my shelter with. Most notably, I got myself a mirror, some hygiene products, bits of half-functional electronics, and medical equipment. Perhaps its trivial in the current situation, but I do enjoy stockpiling self-care things. Just because I have to prioritize survival doesn't mean I need to forgo comfort like an ascetic monk or homeless person would. When I got back, I spent two hours doing nothing but stare at myself in the mirror, wondering what the person on the other side was thinking. I wouldn't be able to do such a thing if the light hadn't vanished, not like this anyways. Overall, the fall of the world has been nothing but a net positive for me. I am liberated from my job and my obligations, I have nothing to prove except whether I can use my freedom responsibly, I have nobody to be. I do not need to fit in anymore, I do not need to necessarily be a person anymore; and while normally this would be a terrible thing, here it is the most one can ask for. 

But frankly I've gotten bored. A few days ago, the endless spew of car commercials coming from the radio finally stopped. I've tried to investigate and only got an endless wall of static despite hours of tinkering. This disheartened me, so I started tuning to random stations, hoping for any kind of noise other than static. Nothing came, and eventually I gave up, deciding to listen to the static instead. You'd be surprised how entertaining that was, I'd often find myself jamming along to random hisses and scratches that'd pop up. It was strange, but it was good because I deemed it so. The general "rules" of what's considered good or bad no longer exist because I'm sure everyone is either dead or wishes they were, leaving me as the sole dictator of quality. And beggars can't be choosers, I have very little, so whatever I have is the best it can be. Who is there to tell me no, not even the man in the mirror is there anymore... When I first noticed my reflection had forsaken me, I had thought the many eyes had returned to bother me, so I went to bang on the mirror. I did not hit anything, my fist just swung through the air. "How queer" I thought, so I stepped through to investigate why my mirror had ceased to function properly. 

I found the mirror world to be rather underwhelming at first, it looked exactly as it did through my mirror. That was until I looked behind me past the mirrored mirror and saw a vast array of pumps and machinery in place of where I came from. It looked like the interior of a naval vessel or a power plant, a fluorescent  light buzzing above me and the walls, which were lined with pipes hissing and churning with Lord knows what. An assembly line sat a dozen paces parallel to my facade, robotic claws adorning the belt with plastic bowls emerging from a cardboard box. In these bowls, a nozzle would deploy a shimmering silvery liquid until the bowl had been halfway filled, after which a second nozzle would fill the remainder of the bowl with black tar. Towards the end of the conveyor belt, a blue flame would be applied to the bowl, after which it would be poured into a pipe leading into the floor and moved back to the cardboard box. Closer inspection revealed virtually nothing of use, the procession was strange no matter how it was viewed. 

A nearby metal door creaked open and a figure stepped through. It wore the same clothes I wore, bore the same skin, stared at me with the same eyes, he was exactly like me. I recall gesturing to the mirror I previously stepped through and uttering "Bloody hell, are you not supposed to be standing in the mirror whenever I look through it?", to which he replied "Am I not allowed to take a break? You sound like my boss". It hadn't occurred to me that being a reflection was an occupation one could pursue as easily as customer service or construction, so I inquired to it the nature of this establishment and its role. Clearly the poor sod had been through a long day, but nonetheless he told me they had to be stationed at every reflection to prevent us feeble mortals from entering the mirror world and realizing the true nature of the world. What a wacky tale, but frankly not much surprises me anymore. The doppelganger would then produce a table and two chairs from a closet, and invite me for a drink while I'm here. Naturally, I obliged and sat before my reflection as they provided two cups of the shimmering silver liquid. 

I listened to the fellow ramble about his boss, a stout fellow referred to as "Mister Cigarette". I heard all sorts of Cigarette's exploits in the workplace, and as I listened, I picked up my cup and intended to take a sip. That was when I actually looked into the contents of the cup and realized what I had gotten into. My companion seemed confused at my skepticism, and assured me that the liquid would transform me in a positive manner. Against better judgement, I took a sip and was immediately assaulted by an overwhelming euphoria as I rose outside my body. A light shone in my eyes as I stared down at my two selves, who looked up at me. The one I emerged from was dumbfounded, unable to comprehend what I had become, while the other casually sipped their drink as though nothing was wrong. That was when I realized the extent of my old me's limitations. He merely occupied a single space in a single moment at a single time, while I had spread across the room in a manner that defies empirical explanation. 

I stared upon my feeble vessel for a long time, until he reached a hand out to me. To meet his need, I manifested a great batch of fingers from the air, taking him up and out of his body. His time had come, he had been through too much, so I sent him into the hallway beyond where no light nor dark shimmered. The original doppelganger gazed upon a pocket-watch and declared that his break had expired, and that they were to return to work. This was not preferable for me, our interaction had only just begun. "Do you not wish to be free?" I asked him, and he said he needed the money to survive and thrive. Nonsense I thought, and I sought to prove it to him, so I took him back through the mirror into my abode. "There are no bills to pay here" I declared, "there are no obligations here, in this home, I live freely. I am not a man, I am anything, I can do anything. Do you want to do anything?" 

Alas, the fellow was resigned to his duty, and politely declined. How dare he who has shown me so much not help himself achieve enlightenment? As he stepped back through the mirror, I stared on with a weary look and covered that reflective panel with a blanket. I could no longer bear to look at myself any longer. I was returning to flesh and soon I was left where I started, arms and legs and all. I wrote down what I remembered about myself, no beard, black hair, pale skin. I do not believe myself to be what I was describing, and I hope never again to see myself as such, but to force Freedom onto another would be hypocrisy in its greatest form.

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