I heard once that mirrors are a reflection. A way to look at yourself. A slate of glass on the wall to see how you look in the morning or before you go somewhere, and then at night when the day is done.

Then I look back at all of the stories I heard when I was younger. I loved to watch the black and white film where Mickey Mouse walked through a mirror and shrank down, like Alice in Wonderland. Later they took that concept and made it a video game, the name I cannot recall.

I didn't notice how bleak the world in the game seemed. Black, dull, broken and rotting. The boats in 'It's a Small World' were sinking in black, inky waters and Mickey trudged through a place filled with twisted, strange monsters. The residents of Main Street were almost lifeless, skeletal, the buildings depleted in color, the flowers dying in their pots.

I can see now, why I am so intrigued by something as simple as a mirror.

There are mirrors everywhere, on the black of the TV Screen, the pale reflection of freshly polished windows, in crystal vases and jewelry and lighting, in the newly waxed floor, in the water I swim in, drink and walk by every day. In my mother's sunglasses. In the eyes of the people I look at. In a way, mirrors are found everywhere.

I remember once when I had too much time on my hands, I was on the internet looking up conspiracy theories. Link after link I clicked, reading the pages and filling my head with stupid ideas and concepts.

I finally read one about mirrors.

It stated that mirrors were a doorway to a parallel dimension that followed closely to the one I lived in. The only difference was that everything was wonderfully well or horribly bad. And your reflection stood in front of the mirror to block you from going there, if it was bad. But if it was good there, you stayed here to stop your reflection from coming here, where it was worse.

Ever since, I found myself staring at the mirror a few moments longer, trying to contemplate if the world there was good or bad, and whether or not it was me or my reflection keeping me safe. On days I was tired or beat, I could never tell, since usually I am quite content where I am.

Sometimes I will stare at the mirror for what feels like forever, unsure if movement will cause my reflection to stay there. Would they be thinking exactly what I was thinking? Perhaps the exact opposite? Are they aware that I controlled them? Or do they control me? When I'm not looking, do they watch me? Do they truly act as some sort of guardian? Like a dragon keeping a treasure safe, though I was still unsure if it was a gift or a curse on the other side of the glass?

Sometimes, out of stupid curiosity, I will take the small bathroom mirror off of its hooks. There, it is always the same, nothing but a cracking wall and peeling paint. Whenever I stare, or try to watch for my reflection blinking out of time, throwing my limbs about, and still, my reflection is in perfect synchronization with me.

I still swear sometimes, as I walk out of the bathroom, or away from my reflection, I can see my reflection remain for just a moment longer, as if making sure I remain here.

Safe and sound.

And my mirror will never change. Hanging on the wall, in a way, warning me to stay away, warping the shadows in my house.

And my reflection will remain a moment longer, as if in warning, the world behind it becoming twisted and black.

Do not come here.

It is not safe.