Mirrors fascinate me. They always have.

When I was little, and we went shopping with my mom, I always hated it. Fashion wasn’t my thing; shopping for clothes was hell.

I remember one time, though, in the dressing rooms to one particular store (I can’t remember the name), there were two mirrors on the walls of the opposite ends of the room. If you looked into one of the mirrors, you saw your reflection (of your back) being reflected onto the mirror you were looking at. Then, you saw the reflection of that reflection, then the reflection of the reflection of that reflection, etcetera.

Staring into the slightly grimy mirror, I saw infinite images of myself, staring right back at me or facing the other direction. If I moved, they all moved. All of these clones followed all of my commands.

I moved my arms out to the sides, swaying them as if they were a wave. The other imitations mimicked me, and the mirror was an ocean, water churning infinitely. There was no shore, not positively true beginning.