I broke a mirror when I was seven. I was terrified the devil would come and take me. Quietly, before anybody noticed and told on me, I picked up the pieces--there weren't many. Once they were in the trash, I took that out to the back (first and only time I did it on my own) but I noticed my hands were covered in that silver stuff that makes a mirror more than just a piece of glass. I washed them. I remembered this because they were playing The Matrix on the superstation the other night... I turned it on just as Neo touched the broken mirror that had migically fixed itself.
I think I'd take the blue pill--I never did like rabbits, anyway. And all the silver I ever wanted seems to be settling around my temples these days. Ah... it's ok... I'll live... And what could be more scary than that?
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