You’re Not Awake
561 Words
Anya jolted upright.
Sweat slicked her forehead. The air was warm — too warm. Morning light poured through the window, but something about it looked… artificial. Too soft. Too still.
She stumbled to the mirror.
Her reflection blinked one second too late.
She stepped back.
“No,” she whispered. “No, I woke up. I’m out.”
The reflection didn’t respond.
Instead, it smiled.
Then it raised its hand… and knocked on the inside of the mirror.
Three times.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Anya’s knees gave out. She sat on the floor, staring.
The knocking didn’t stop.
It came from behind the mirror, but also from her door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
She crawled to the door and looked through the peephole.
No one.
But her phone buzzed.
From: You
“She’s still dreaming. Help me get out.”
The letters glitched as she read them. Flickering between alphabets, symbols, and shapes she couldn’t comprehend.
She dropped the phone.
When she looked back at the mirror, her reflection had vanished.
Not gone.
Moved.
Now standing behind her.
She spun around. Nothing there.
But the reflection was still watching — from inside the glass.
It wasn’t copying anymore. It was observing.
And then the apartment changed.
Everything turned liquid. Walls rippled. The ceiling began to melt downward like wax.
The floor stretched away — revealing endless darkness underneath.
A single whisper echoed from every corner:
“Wake up.”
She screamed.
Grabbed the nearest object — a lamp — and hurled it at the mirror.
It shattered.
Black smoke hissed from the cracks, curling into shapes — limbs, eyes, teeth.
But not hers.
Not anymore.
She ran. But each doorway led to the same place.
Room 309. Room 309. Room 309.
She opened the kitchen cabinet. Inside? A stairwell.
She climbed.
Step after step after step…
Until she reached a single wooden door.
The number burned into it:
309∞
She opened it.
Inside: hundreds of versions of her. Sleeping in glass pods. Each slightly different. One missing a hand. One with black eyes. One covered in writing. One smiling while unconscious.
And above them… suspended in the air… the mirror self.
Eyes glowing. Hair floating. Arms stretched.
It whispered:
“You’ve been dreaming in loops. Every time you think you escape, you wake into another version. One day… one version won’t wake up. And I’ll stay.”
Anya backed away.
“I don’t believe you,” she muttered.
The reflection smiled wider.
“Then why are you still here?”
Suddenly, the ground cracked open.
She fell.
Tumbling through layers of reality — rooms, lives, reflections — until she landed hard.
On cold concrete.
Darkness.
A light flickered above.
And in front of her…
A chair.
Someone sat in it.
Back turned.
Breathing heavily.
She approached.
Slowly.
Terrified.
When she touched the figure’s shoulder, it turned.
And it was her.
Eyes wide open. No pupils. Skin gray.
The body whispered:
“I’m what’s left after every false awakening.”
And it disintegrated into ash.
Behind her — footsteps.
The mirror self was following.
“You can’t run anymore,” it said.
“You’re almost empty. One more loop, and you’ll forget you were ever real.”
Anya turned, tears blurring her vision.
“Then what do you want from me?”
It leaned close.
“Let me wake up… in your place.”
- Writer
