A boy walks up to a river, and watches it flow in the wind. Watching each wave that it touches forcefully push toward the current, and giving off that white color as it hits the rocks. He smiles, thinking about the process and how its a lovely sight to see. As he watches the water, the more he concentrates he notices something. He notices something quite obvious, infact he believes it to be so obvious he is confused as to why he didn't see it the first time he looked down. He saw himself, his waving reflection, perfectly matching his skin, his eyes, his nose, every little detail about him. He reaches down, kneeling on the dirt and rocks infront of the bank. He puts his hand out, slowly moving toward the water, trying to touch the reflection he sees. But then, he touches it, only to be filled with dissapointment. The water reacts to his gentle touch, and the image portraying himself ripples away. He is sad, but he sees it is only to materialize once again after a few seconds of waiting for him to release his hand. He sighs.
The boy walks home, passing by every street corner, every building, every person, good or bad, in the neighborhood. He feels something nudge against the bottom of his shoe as he walks along side the alleyway. He moves his shoe to the sky, revealing a peice of glass beneath it. Hes sees himself in the peice of glass, such a tiny reflection, but it was enough for him to notice that it was himself. He walks home, without thinking twice, smiling and humming and skipping with joy.
The boy walks in through the front door, greeted by his mother. He smells the extraordinarily pleasant aroma coming from the kitchen, and realizes his mother had been cooking for the past few hours. He laughs to himself, and walks on into the bathroom to wash up before supper. He turns on the light with his left hand, turns on the sink with his right. He moves his hands in a motion of friction, but the cool water calms the heat he's naturally making down. He shuts off the sink, and puts the soap back into it's container. As he does so, he notices something in the corner of his eye. Something that comforts him, something very familiar. He looks up, and sees his reflection in the mirror. He notices the funny aspect of this, the fact that the letters of his shirt are backwards, and his left hand suddenly matches his movement, and the same as the right. His eyes move at the same time as they do in real life, and to him it is such an amusement because it truly is reality, not a fantasy. He looks up to the ceiling, looking at the light hanging from above. He takes one more glance at his reflection, ending in a quiet laugh while he shuts off the light. "You seemed like you were having fun in there, what was going on?" His mother asks. The boy smiles and tells his mom about the mirror. But as he thinks more about the mirror, he thinks also about how this made him sad.
The next day, in the early afternoon, the boy stumbles upon another piece of glass. He picks it up, and pays close attention to his reflection. It moves with him, witch he liked very much. It talks with him, but makes no sound. It looks like him, but yet, is not him. That one really makes him confused, if it is not him, is it a clone? Could it be another life, just copying his own? He puts that thought to the back of his mind, doing one more thing to the piece of glass before he drops it and walks back home. He punches it, and watches the pieces shatter and fall to the ground. They break into smaller and smaller pieces when they hit the cement, and make an unpleasant scraping sound. The boy is hurt, but is not feeling any pain. He looks down at his hand, to see several tiny cuts on his skin, all of them bleeding. He watches the blood spew out, and drip off of his hand, and down to the ground. The blood is a bright red, slowly turning to a darkened black. The teacher notices what has happened to his hand, and runs over to help him. She is very concerned as to why he did this, and asks why is he crying. He responds through his tears, but not with his voice. The teacher getting the answer she wanted, and him not having to say a word. It was because it hurt my hand. The teacher thinks. But the boy had a different thought in mind, a much more complex and detailed thought in his mind. It was not because of the pain, he thought. But it was because he could not touch what he wanted to feel, what he already felt, what he had but still wanted. What he was, and who he wanted to be.
If anything in space that portrays a world inside of it, has a world inside of it, like earth, if we are in space, witch we are, does a reflection show us the path to another world? Is looking into a mirror enough to create a reality so similiar to ours it does everything we do, with every little detail? Every little movement, every little breath. Every little blink, and every little step. It makes no sound, yet is as loud as the world it showcases. So if we could, would we be able to travel into a mirror? Or into the water that shows us our reflection? Or anything that shows us our reflection, like a shadow. If, and only if, we wanted to, could we? Touching a wall feels like touching a wall, but if we could travel inside of the world that wall gives to us, what would become of the thing thats traveling? Would it become the wall? Would it become the shadows on the wall? Or would it stay itself? Or maybe, just maybe, we would become the thing we wish to feel, we would become what we already are, yet are so far away from...our reflections. A world so close we can almost feel it, yet far enough away that we cannot touch it. Its our world, and were already there. Yet we are miles away from it. Worlds, and galaxies away...
"I don't believe in the existence of mirror traveling, but that doesn't mean the world we CANT travel to isnt there."
-Joey Acopiado 2012.