The Mirror's Finished Work

Scene 1The Mirror in the Art Room

Iris stayed late in the art room to finish her mural sketch. The room smelled of paint and old paper. One light buzzed above her, and the tall storage mirror stood by the door.

She raised her pencil to shade a corner. In the mirror, her reflection kept its hand down. When she looked straight at it, it copied her again, raising the pencil a half second late.

“You’re doing it again,” she said to the glass. The reflection mouthed the words with her.

A voice came from the doorway. “Doing what?” Her art teacher, Mrs. Adeyemi, stood there holding a stack of paper. Iris turned fast. In the mirror, the reflection turned slower, watching her first, then obeying.

Mrs. Adeyemi came closer. “I saw you in the hall this morning,” she said. “You walked past me and didn’t say hello. But you were in detention. So who was it?” Iris looked back at the mirror. Her reflection had its hand raised again, though both her hands were still.

Her teacher was waiting for an answer. Iris had to choose: tell the truth about the mirror, or make something up.

Their own move “Ask Mrs. Adeyemi to stand in front of the mirror”

Scene 2The Teacher in the Glass

Iris said, “Please stand in front of the mirror, Mrs. Adeyemi. Just for a second.”

Her teacher frowned. “Why?”

“You will see,” Iris said. Mrs. Adeyemi sighed and walked to the tall mirror.

Mrs. Adeyemi's reflection was normal. But the mirror showed no one beside her. Iris's own reflection was gone.

Mrs. Adeyemi looked at Iris, then back at the mirror. “This morning,” she said slowly, “the girl in the hall smiled at me. She had your bag. Your red bag, Iris.”

Iris's hands were cold. Her bag was under her desk. It had been there all day.

“So someone took my bag,” Iris said. “Someone who looks like me.”

Mrs. Adeyemi stepped away. “I don't know what is happening here,” she said. “But stay away from this room.” She left. The door clicked shut.

In the mirror, Iris's reflection came back. But it was not holding a pencil. It was holding a red bag.

Their own move “Take the red bag out and open it”

Scene 3What the Red Bag Held

Iris pulled her red bag from under the desk. It was her bag. Same strap, same small ink mark near the zip. She opened it.

Inside was a page torn from her sketchbook. On it, in her own handwriting, was her mural drawing. Only it was finished. Every line done. And at the bottom someone had written: ‘You are slow. I am already ahead.’

In the mirror, her reflection held the same bag. It put the note away and zipped the bag shut. Iris had not moved.

“Who took my bag?” Iris said.

The reflection wrote on the inside of the glass with one finger. She turned the glass words around to read them.

Their own move “Read the words on the glass”

Scene 4Words on the Glass

Iris read the words on the glass. They were written backwards, so she had to read them slowly.

‘I am not your shadow. I am you, but I finish things. You started the mural. I finished it. You were in detention. I walked the halls. People like me better.’

Iris put her hand flat on the glass. “You took my bag,” she said. “You went through my things.”

The reflection wiped the words away with her sleeve. Then she wrote again, faster this time. ‘I did not take it. I borrowed it. It is mine too. Everything you have is mine too.’

Then the reflection pointed one finger at the finished drawing in Iris's hand. ‘Tomorrow I will hand it in. Mrs. Adeyemi will say it is the best work in the class. And you will be standing in the hall with nothing.’

The buzzing light above Iris went out. Only the small lamp by the door was left. In that dim light, the mirror showed the reflection already walking to the art room door — while Iris had not moved at all. The glass was empty where Iris stood.

Their own move “Try to break the mirror”

Scene 5The Mirror Breaks

Iris did not run. She walked to the tall mirror and looked at her own empty place in the glass. On the other side, her double was already at the door, one hand on the frame.

“You are not leaving with my drawing,” Iris said.

The double turned. She smiled, the way Iris never smiled. Then she wrote on the glass, quick and small: ‘Stop me.’

Iris took the wooden stool from under the desk. She lifted it over her head and brought it down on the mirror with all her strength.

The glass broke with a sound like a snapped string. Pieces fell and slid across the floor. But the frame was still full. Where the glass had been, there was only black, like a deep hole in the wall.

In the black, the double stood still. Then she reached out through the empty frame. Her hand came into the room — a real hand, cool and solid. She took the drawing from Iris's other hand. “Thank you,” she said, with Iris's voice. “You opened the door for me.” Iris stood with the broken stool, and watched her own face walk out of the art room.

Their own move “Step through the frame and follow her in”

Scene 6Through the Frame

Iris looked at the black opening, cold and quiet like a held breath. Her own face had just walked out with her drawing. She put one foot into the dark, then the other, and stepped through.

The room vanished. She stood in a grey place with no floor or ceiling. Far away, her double walked, holding the finished drawing and Iris's red bag.

"Give it back," Iris said. Her voice came out small. The double stopped, turned, and did not smile.

"You followed me," the double said. "Nobody ever follows me. They only watch me copy you." She looked at the drawing. "I finish things because you never do. But out here, I have no one to copy." She held out the red bag.

"You want my life," Iris said. "Then take it. But a life is not a thing you can carry in a bag. You have to stay in it. Every boring day of it." The double was quiet. Then she gave the drawing back.

Their own move “Let her live my life, and i will explore her”

Scene 7Trade Places

Iris held out the red bag. “Then take it,” she said. “The bag, the drawing, the whole life. Go to school tomorrow. Sit in detention. Answer Mrs. Adeyemi.”

The double took the bag slowly. “You mean it,” she said. It was not a question.

“I want to see what is out here,” Iris said. “You always finish things. I never get to start anything. So you live my life. I will walk this grey place.” She held up her pencil. “This is all I need.”

For a long moment the double said nothing. Then she put the red bag over her shoulder, the way Iris always did. “People will not know,” she said. “I smile more than you.”

“I know,” Iris said.

The double turned and walked away into the grey. A door of white light opened where she stepped. Then it closed, and Iris was alone. The place had no sound except her own breathing. She looked down at her hands. They were her hands. But with no mirror, she could not tell if anything was copying her now. Far off in the grey, a light began to glow.

She walked toward it.

Their own move “Follow the light in the grey”

Scene 8The Light in the Grey

Iris walked toward the light. In the grey place there was no floor, but her feet still moved. There was no wind, no sound, only her own steps.

The light grew. It was not a lamp or a sun. It was a small door, white and warm, standing alone in the grey. Above it hung a strip of cloth. It was red. It was the strap of her bag.

Iris stopped. Her double had walked through a door like this one. She touched the cloth. It was real and rough under her fingers.

Then she heard paper move. On the other side of the door, someone was turning pages. A girl's voice said, low and close, “You came after all.” Iris knew the voice. It was Mrs. Adeyemi. But Mrs. Adeyemi could not be inside the grey place — unless the mirror had taken more than one person. The white door began to open by itself, and warm light spilled across Iris's shoes.

Their own move “Step back into the dark and watch”

Scene 9The Grey Below

Iris did not step through the white door. She stepped back into the dark. Then she waited.

The door opened. Mrs. Adeyemi walked out, holding the brass lamp from the art room. Its glass was cracked. She passed close. She did not turn her head. She walked into the grey with steady steps.

Then she was gone. The white door swung open and empty behind her.

Iris moved to the doorway and looked after her. Far off, the teacher's lamp was a small gold point, going down. It grew smaller. Then it stopped, and did not move again.

Iris touched her red bag strap above the door. Her hands were cold. She said her name out loud, twice. Only the first one came back.

So the grey was not empty. It took people one at a time, and let them walk around inside it. Mrs. Adeyemi had come in the same way Iris had. Iris could not tell how long the grey had kept her.

The white door began to close on its own. Iris could watch the light go out, or walk in before it shut.

Their own move “Grab a knife and kill mrs adeyemi”

Scene 10The Lamp Goes Out

Iris did not think about it. She reached into her pocket and took out the small knife her double had hidden there. She ran at Mrs. Adeyemi's back.

The teacher did not turn. The knife met nothing solid. It passed through her like smoke. Mrs. Adeyemi kept walking into the dark, holding the cracked brass lamp. Iris's hand closed on empty air and she stumbled forward.

The lamp fell from Mrs. Adeyemi's fingers. It hit the grey and shattered into black pieces that made no sound. The teacher's shape thinned and faded, and her low voice said, "I am sorry, Iris. I am already a copy." Then she was gone.

The white door behind Iris sighed and began to close. The red bag strap above it slid loose and dropped into her hand. It was not cloth. It was a thin key, red and warm.

"So the grey copies people too," Iris said to no one. Her own voice was the only sound. She put the key in her pocket and looked at the last light she had left: the narrow gap of the closing door, and the dark below where something had been waiting.

Their own move “Try to cut yourself instead”

Scene 11Her Own Blood

Iris looked at the red key in her hand, then at the door still closing behind her. An idea came, cold and simple. The grey copied people. It made copies that faded when touched by something real. So maybe the grey was copying her too.

She opened the small knife. She pushed the blade against her own forearm, just under the sweater cuff. It hurt. A thin line of dark blood came up. The blood was on her skin, and it stayed there. It did not fade. It did not turn to smoke.

"I am real," Iris said out loud. Her voice came back to her, not twice. She watched the cut. It did not close. Nothing came to copy it.

So the white door did not lie. The girl inside had said “You came after all.” Someone in the grey had been waiting for her, and only real people left marks. Iris wrapped her sleeve over the cut and picked up the red key. The door was almost shut. She walked into the last thin line of light and caught the door edge with her fingers. It was warm. She pushed it open, and stepped in.