Beyond the Mirror

Ben watched as the heat from his hand created a gentle haze that softly outlined each finger as he firmly pressed them against the cold glass. Peeling his hand away, he could feel how they stuck; the layers of dirt and sweat that had accumulated over his body within the past hour clung to the window's surface in one thin layer. Every line, every crease was there. This was all he had left; one hand print on a store's glass window for the world to see, but go unnoticed. His life, summed up in the print of one hand.
Around him New York City Police drew lines of tape across the front of the burning building as tourists and civilians alike crowded in for a better look. Radios blazed with news of the fire as well as other disturbances within the city limits. The sirens of emergency vehicles droned on and on- but Ben heard nothing. The world around him shifted and moved as nothing new was to be seen; the excitement of the moment had died. Ben's world remained stationary, unmoving. The life he had lived and fought for was gone.. but here he was. The laws of life and death seemed to have looked the other way during the last moments of his life. No one could have survived, but this...

This was worse than death.

Stepping back from the window Ben's eyes never lost focus of the print he had made. People walking along the crowded streets seemed to subconsciously move away from Ben as he continued backwards, but they took no notice of the hand or him. Slowly his body began to shake with shallow breaths, and his eyes darted back and forth between unaware faces.

"Look," he whispered into the air, "look at me." The wind swept his words away as swiftly as he spoke them. Ignorant eyes bore through him as they walked carelessly, occasionally glancing at the gathering crowd beside the old mall.

"Dammit! Look at me," he cried, flailing his arms in front of their faces. Frantically he practically sprinted towards the window again, staring down at the hand before him and muttered absently to himself, "I know you can see this. You can all see this."

With a deep sense of growing determination, Ben pressed his hands against the window hard, continuing upwards one at a time as if he were planning to scale the glass. With each movement his hand crashed against the glass, causing tremors to vibrate all along its surface. To passers by, they blamed the wind. Ben, however, refused to let his efforts go unnoticed. Faster now, he plastered the window with evidence of his existence. As he thrust each hand upon the glass he let out grunts of frustration and desperation. In his life he had seen the hands of others who were trapped in the mirror, and now he clung to the hope that he too could be noticed. This wasn't over yet... it couldn't be. Not when he was just beginning to sort out his life again. He would miss out on so much: new jobs, mending old heartbreaks, fixing ties, gaining trust towards an old love.. and his kids. His children, oh God, his children. The glass blurred. His children would grow old, and he wouldn't be there. They would never know how sorry he was for everything. All the drinking and self pity he had felt for his life before seemed so... meaningless. Nothing could ever bring those moments back. They were lost.

"Look at me," he growled through his teeth as the window became plastered with images of hands. Through the hazy glass, Ben let out a half-crazed cry of joy as he saw one of the salesmen from inside the store edge closer towards the glass.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on here. Come here, I know you see this, I know." With his heart racing Ben paced back and forth He slid his hands across the coated surface, smearing and adding to the array of prints that decorated it as the stranger drew closer.

"Aweh, shit," the man cursed as he looked at the window. "Dale, c'mon over here and get this cleaned up."

"Yessir."

Within minutes, a young man emerged holding a bucket of soapy water and a cloth. He whistled a low tune as he began to clean the mess Ben had worked so hard to create. With every swipe of his cloth, Ben jumped in to smear again. He wasn't giving up without a fight.

"You will notice," he growled, "so help me God you'll notice."

But he didn't. The water from the bucket soon washed away the dirt and grime that coated the window and Ben's hands, leaving no trace of him. Dale smiled to himself as the window finally became relatively clean.

"Well," he chimed, "it's not perfect, but it'll do just fine." Dale began to make his way back into the store. With a half-defeated grunt Ben grabbed onto Dale's shoulders, shaking him violently. An odd sensation swept over him as Dale's body became like warmed clay in his hands. His own arms flew to his shoulders as his body began to convulse. Ben jumped away from him, watching with shocked confusion as Dale slumped to the ground. Somewhere someone was shouting while someone else hustled over a paramedic from the mall. Cautiously, Ben reached down and placed his hands on Dale's shoulders. He began to shake again. It was an unnatural sight; even to Ben,who was on all accounts the creator of the movements. More paramedics arrived and Ben quickly stepped away in the hopes of keeping from causing another scene. Dale was still shaking-- but of his own natural instinct. At least now he no longer looked like he had been possessed... which was exactly what had happened. Ben had possessed another human being in the same way that had taken over the bodies of his family... of Angela. This life was a curse worse than death. It was no life at all.
Ben stared in defeat as Dale was loaded onto a stretcher and crated into the back of the ambulance, quickly taking off into the dying light of day. He stood there long after the sun had set and risen again. Time no longer held meaning.

He was a cursed man.
He was a lonely man.

He was a trapped man.