The Eternal Sinning Of A Fangirl's Mind

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"I don't see why you're offended by the nickname 'Barbie', wasn't she perfect, absolutely gorgeous, and practically rich?"

Rylo had been doing nothing but perhaps pacing back and forth in his bedroom when the voice nearly identical to his own spoke.

He spun on his heel, coming face to face with the inevitable. The reflection of himself, but not really.

The same blond hair, but black at the ends, green eyes replaced with bright yellow irises, surrounded by a pitch-black sclera.

While the appearance of the creature in the mirror wasn't abnormal anymore, the fact that his first reappearance after two months of silence was such an obvious question.

"Think about it, what's the most feminine thing you can think of on the spot?"

"Woodland creatures."

"Alright, I get what you're talking about, but when you're being named after a perfect silicone blond girl who knows nothing but perfection when you're the farthest thing from it, it's not exactly the greatest feeling. Not that you'd know, but—"

"Absolutely, I'm sure I wouldn't know what it's like to be a fuck up."

The sarcasm of the statement sent chills down Rylo's spine.

"Of course not, aren't you just all that and a bag of chips?"

A quiet, unsettling laugh was the first response, followed by a question equal in volume,

"Wouldn't the clone of a fucked up clone be even worse than the original mistake?"

His voice had betrayed him at the end of his sentence, just barely cracking on the last syllable.

"You assume we're opposites, but if anything, we're nearly the same. We cover up our inconsistencies with snide remarks, we both get fed up with stupid, meaningless names given to us out of hate for what someone else has done to us. We act like everything is fine even though we both deprive ourselves of sleep and sob our cold, dead hearts out every time something goes wrong. I just cover it more, I've learned to use it against you, as if I were the superior, but I'm worse than you."

"Wh– What are you talking abou—"

"Don't play dumb, you know your girlfriend could step through this glass and snap my neck in less than three seconds. Better yet, a single bit of smoke could put me near death. Not to mention I don't even have a name to call myself. I'm not you, I'm nothing. I'm some manifestation of your imagination trying to act like I can do anything, but I can't. I'm– I... I'm just a deer. Some gross, boney mutation of a deer with disgusting teeth and fucked up hair and cannibalistic tendencies and– and... a–and—"

He quickly began to stumble over his own words, choking up as he fought to hold back the glistening sheet of tears that had been building up in his eyes as he ranted, unknowing of how his teeth had been reverting back to their sharp, jagged, uneven nature with the rise of his anger, his already snake-like eyes dilating even further until it all came undone.

His legs buckled under him, forcing him to his knees as tears rolled down his unnaturally pale face.

"I'm just the m-manifestation of all the truths you ref-fuse to accept, Rylo. If you just realised these s-simple things, we could both be rid of each other," he muttered, looking up for a split second with a toothy grin equivalent to that of a demented Cheshire Cat, tears still streaming down his face before disappearing without a trace.

The blond stood in front of the mirror still, staring at his returned normal reflection in disbelief.

He was unsure whether the actual return of the opposite or seeing the thing actually shed tears was more disturbing.

Whatever the case, it most certainly wouldn't be forgotten that simply.