He passed yet another mirror today.
Thirty-fifth time today since this morning. He's counted. Every last one.
And with the number came the voices, louder today than usual.
Do you remember?
Remember what exactly?
The one with that promise? The one with those eyes? The eyes that screamed defiance in every glance? The one who cut the moon down?
Who?
Whatshisface...
... No, I don't.
And every time he swears he sees irridecent blue buildings behind him, the promise of a blue sky, there plain as day in the silver lining before him.
But behind him, nothing but grey.
No silver, kids, just rain.
Who was that person, again?
That's right, Whatshisface. Nice to meet you.
Please leave a message after the deafening echo of a collapsing subconcious.
Because it's gone, baby, gone.
And he moves on. A thousand more mirrors to go.
That's right, nothing else can change my world.