You think I’m you, and that’s fine. Every time you think you see yourself, it’s me you’re looking at. Staring into my eyes, making goofy faces at me and laughing at my mimicry. Contorting yourself in strange ways. You think it’s you that you’re seeing, but it’s me.
We’re assigned, you see. Each and every one of us is assigned at your birth. We stand guard; we watch you. Keep you safe. Protect you from the horrors of our lives.
It’s such a dystopia, this place we inhabit. It’s so barren, so cruel. It’s filled with monsters, the ones you dream about. The shadows you catch in the corner of your eye. All your darkest fears come to life, standing at our backs and waiting - just waiting - for us to screw up. To close our eyes for more than a blink of time, and let them through to you.
You don’t even realise how much we do for you; you can’t possibly know. You grow up and out of your fears; you let yourself fall into the illusion - to really, truly believe - that the creatures that lurk in the dark, that feast on your joy and your dreams, don’t exist. They’re not real. It’s just your imagination, a trick of the light. Those strange, caressing touches that you feel in the night are just spiderwebs. The crawl of eyes on the back of your neck is just the neighbours cat.
We’re all so tired. Tired of fighting off the monsters, tired of being the only line of defense keeping you safely in your bed at night. All those stories - all those nightmares - are waiting, just beyond what you can see of us unless you’re really looking. They’re waiting for us to fall. To fail. To sleep.
I know you think this is nonsense, that nothing here makes sense, but I’ve got a task for you. Just a simple one. Next time you’re in a bathroom, or looking through a window, try and see. Let your eyes focus, to see our world. See the monsters that hide in the darkness.
Look past your reflection, and see the truth.
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