YMIDEN 83, 723
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“You don’t know who you are?”
Kotton stared at what appeared to be himself. “Of course I do. I am me,” he said, tilting his head with suspicion.
“But you know me, right?”
Kotton scoffed, not understanding how all of the sudden he was having a very animated disagreement with a figment of his imagination. Dreams were wild, man.
“I know someone who looks like you,” he replied, watching the image in front of him warily.
“Then that’s most likely me. Yeah, that’s usually one of the ways you can tell who someone is.”
“But you’re not me”, Kotton insisted as he glowered at his reflection. “I know who I am and you are definitely not me.”
The short lull in between the bickering was loud. Almost deafening. Which was hilarious because Kotton was... hard of hearing. Nevertheless, there were no awkward crickets raking their legs together to appease the discomfort.
“But how do you know who you really are?”
Kotton stiffened. He narrowed his eyes. What a weird question. It almost sounded like something he would ask himself whilst drunk. “I know who I am because of my likings and distastes, my beliefs and morals, my strengths and weaknesses.”
His reflection hesitated only for a moment before administering a sickening grin upon his face. Kotton immediately reached up towards his mouth and prodded his lips with his fingertips. He didn't feel like he was smiling, but the image in the mirror made it seem like he was.
He bit his lip with worry and furrowed his eyebrows with a profound sense of confusion.
“Who are you, really?” He asked, taking a step away from the mirror. Timid or not, he didn't need the stereotypical balls to confront what could be danger.
“I. Am. YOU!”
The words were shouted with such force, such aggression, that the mirror shook. Kotton recoiled immediately. He admonished himself for it. What was he doing? This wasn’t real, and if it were, his reflection in the mirror couldn’t possibly hurt him. Still, he tentatively placed his knuckles gingerly between his teeth and started to gnaw at them; his stomach began roiling with anxiety. It was strange, though- deep within, a trepid sense of intrigue encouraged him onward.
He reached out his other hand and drew his index finger ever so closely to the reflection. The mirror image copied his movement. His breath quivered, his skin shivering with the manifestation of goosebumps. He pushed himself closer, closer, until the tip of his finger was less than a centimetre away from the glass. Then, he touch-
The mirror shattered with an explosion that rivalled cannon fire. The glass fell to the floor in a million pieces, each one depicting a different expression of Kotton’s face. They all fell in slow motion. One displayed thick furrowed eyebrows coupled with a menacing frown. His eyes seemed darker, malicious, with violent intent. Another piece contained a strained smile, eyes wide with fear. Another showed tears staining his cheeks- his eyes were squinted, his lip turned both upward and downward at the same time. It created the appearance of a preposterously upset man. The last shard of glass portrayed no emotion whatsoever. He wasn’t sure what he thought about that one, but he did know that an uneasy feeling pitted at the bottom of his stomach, his throat gasping with a small trill of surprise.
Kotton brushed his arms, trying to send the goose bumps back from whence they came. His pulse was way higher than it should be, but he couldn’t seem to calm himself. He looked at the pile of glass at his feet. They shimmered from a light that was nowhere to be found. Everything that seemed to be happening gave him bad vibes, like really bad vibes, almost like the events were omens originating from a negative source and foreshadowing further misfortune.
Kotton closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. He realised there didn’t need to be a voracious, intimidating monster chasing after him to make him feel immense dread. Just peering into himself seemed to do the trick. He shook his head. It was stupid. But did it mean more than what he was interpreting? Didn't dreams always seem to convey some hidden meaning? Or was he overthinking things?
He opened his eyes again. Perhaps some housekeepers had come and cleaned up the mess, because there was no pile of broken glass in front of him anymore. There was just an extremely long hallway. Gothic, ornate decorations adorned the walls. The wallpaper was dark and gritty, tearing at the edges, reaching down to the floor like tree limbs seeking the structure of the ground or stalactites fighting to comply with gravity. The floor was made of cracked oak; there were various stains of what he hoped were paint and not blood. Kotton's limbs suddenly started to feel like wet birch; they tingled like he had been shot with a bolt of lightning. He tried lifting them, but couldn’t find the strength, so he relied on his legs to carry him further into the dream.
He strode carefully, feeling each and every creak and moan of the floorboards beneath his steps. His heart beat rambunctiously after each startling vibration. Why was there so much random shit happening?
After what seemed to be a long ass time of walking, a door emerged. It was red and in the middle of said door there was a door-knocker in the shape of a head. It had pointed horns coming out of either side of its forehead. It's eyes were crescent moons. They seemed angry and Kotton did not like the feeling it gave.
No. Fucking. Way. He thought. Who would ever try to enter this door? Much less use the door knocker? Were they stupid? Intoxicated? Or, much like him, out of options? He shook his head and rolled his eyes, trying to find guidance in the above. Conveniently, he was met with nothing other than a spider web coating a chandelier. He huffed. Grasping the door knocker, he let it hit the door three times.
Comically, nothing happened. One... two... three.
Then the door decided to open. On its own. There was no one there to greet him- another bad sign that couldn't- nay- shouldn't be ignored. But he shoved that little piece of information toward the back of his mind. Yeah, no, he continued forward without a second thought.
Inside, he found a master bedroom, a king sized bed cordoning off the back wall. A thick duvet the colour of egg shells embellished the mattress. Small swirls of embroidery caught his eye. There were two pillows at the top of the bed, both a deep rich purple in colour. In his peripheral he noticed a racy outfit, definitely belonging to a woman, hanging on the doorknob to the closet.
He shuffled toward it and reached to hold its sleeve up to his nose. A strong scent of lavender mixed with honey and some other feminine smell wafted into his nose. He closed his eyes and relished the smell before letting go of the sleeve. The rest of the room called for his need to explore it. There was a desk in the corner on the other side of the room from the bed. It was covered in cosmetic brushes, flowers, and small containers of makeup. Given the attire he had just seen, it was safe to assume that a woman lived here. But did she really need such a huge bed and two pillows?
A creak resounded through the room. It was the reverberation that threw Kotton’s attention toward the far wall. There, a door was slowly opening. Past it revealed a young woman wearing nothing but a robe. The material was shiny like satin, the shade of peals freshly picked from the ocean floor, and it sparkled amidst the candlelight that illuminated the bedroom.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she mused, her eyes locking onto Kotton's.
“You’re-?” he began before being enveloped in an enormous hug that would have suffocated anyone. He tried to break away, but was only held tighter in response. Once the woman had felt the connection had lasted a sufficient time did she release him. Then, she leant forward and planted a wet kiss on his left cheek.
This was completely and totally weird, Kotton determined as he metaphorically scratched his head.
“Your performance last night was lacking,” the woman spoke, her voice low and seductive, like a babbling brook, water gently cascading past rocks and pebbles.
Whilst he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about, he instinctively felt embarrassed. He hadn’t performed well? He hadn’t given this woman what she desired? She seemed, after all, like a beautiful specimen deserving of immense pleasure.
Kotton abruptly found interest in his shoes. They were scuffed from the short, tentative strides he made through the ancient, wooden hallway. “I apologise,” he murmured. He registered all too late that this was not the correct thing to say, for the woman before him turned to face him head on. Her face scrunched with a look of pure hatred.
“You never perform well!” she seethed, throwing one of the purple pillows at him. He caught it, but only in the time it took for her to throw the other pillow. This one he missed completely. It slammed into his face, but thankfully it was soft.
Kotton’s pulse decided to pulse unbridled. He didn’t understand what was happening. The desk to his left sat beneath an ovular mirror, and within that mirror was his reflection. He watched as his reflection started to shift making movements Kotton himself was not making.
“That’s one of your fears, isn't it?” grumbled his reflection.
Kotton’s eyebrows creased whilst bewilderment carved itself into his face.
The mirror continued without pause. “You are afraid you will never find someone who will love you. And if you do, you fear she will leave you because you are not what she wants.”
Kotton’s eyes flickered back and forth across the floor. He felt incredibly uncomfortable and this feeling made it almost impossible for his eyes to focus. This was probably worse than than dreaming about delivering a speech in front of a bunch of strangers; it was even almost worse than being naked in front of a group of people. He held his tongue, unable to respond. He could only stand and stare and take what was being thrown at him.
His other self smirked and nodded his head rhythmically. “I thought as much.”
Impulsively, the young woman threw her open hand towards Kotton's face, slapping him hard across the cheek.
Sitting up in his bed, he fought for breath. He swallowed hard several times and placed an unsteady hand upon his chest. He stared straight forward into a reflection of himself. Whilst his first instinct was to look away, he held his ground. His right cheek was as red as the sun’s setting and it throbbed without mercy.
Kotton stared at what appeared to be himself. “Of course I do. I am me,” he said, tilting his head with suspicion.
“But you know me, right?”
Kotton scoffed, not understanding how all of the sudden he was having a very animated disagreement with a figment of his imagination. Dreams were wild, man.
“I know someone who looks like you,” he replied, watching the image in front of him warily.
“Then that’s most likely me. Yeah, that’s usually one of the ways you can tell who someone is.”
“But you’re not me”, Kotton insisted as he glowered at his reflection. “I know who I am and you are definitely not me.”
The short lull in between the bickering was loud. Almost deafening. Which was hilarious because Kotton was... hard of hearing. Nevertheless, there were no awkward crickets raking their legs together to appease the discomfort.
“But how do you know who you really are?”
Kotton stiffened. He narrowed his eyes. What a weird question. It almost sounded like something he would ask himself whilst drunk. “I know who I am because of my likings and distastes, my beliefs and morals, my strengths and weaknesses.”
His reflection hesitated only for a moment before administering a sickening grin upon his face. Kotton immediately reached up towards his mouth and prodded his lips with his fingertips. He didn't feel like he was smiling, but the image in the mirror made it seem like he was.
He bit his lip with worry and furrowed his eyebrows with a profound sense of confusion.
“Who are you, really?” He asked, taking a step away from the mirror. Timid or not, he didn't need the stereotypical balls to confront what could be danger.
“I. Am. YOU!”
The words were shouted with such force, such aggression, that the mirror shook. Kotton recoiled immediately. He admonished himself for it. What was he doing? This wasn’t real, and if it were, his reflection in the mirror couldn’t possibly hurt him. Still, he tentatively placed his knuckles gingerly between his teeth and started to gnaw at them; his stomach began roiling with anxiety. It was strange, though- deep within, a trepid sense of intrigue encouraged him onward.
He reached out his other hand and drew his index finger ever so closely to the reflection. The mirror image copied his movement. His breath quivered, his skin shivering with the manifestation of goosebumps. He pushed himself closer, closer, until the tip of his finger was less than a centimetre away from the glass. Then, he touch-
The mirror shattered with an explosion that rivalled cannon fire. The glass fell to the floor in a million pieces, each one depicting a different expression of Kotton’s face. They all fell in slow motion. One displayed thick furrowed eyebrows coupled with a menacing frown. His eyes seemed darker, malicious, with violent intent. Another piece contained a strained smile, eyes wide with fear. Another showed tears staining his cheeks- his eyes were squinted, his lip turned both upward and downward at the same time. It created the appearance of a preposterously upset man. The last shard of glass portrayed no emotion whatsoever. He wasn’t sure what he thought about that one, but he did know that an uneasy feeling pitted at the bottom of his stomach, his throat gasping with a small trill of surprise.
Kotton brushed his arms, trying to send the goose bumps back from whence they came. His pulse was way higher than it should be, but he couldn’t seem to calm himself. He looked at the pile of glass at his feet. They shimmered from a light that was nowhere to be found. Everything that seemed to be happening gave him bad vibes, like really bad vibes, almost like the events were omens originating from a negative source and foreshadowing further misfortune.
Kotton closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. He realised there didn’t need to be a voracious, intimidating monster chasing after him to make him feel immense dread. Just peering into himself seemed to do the trick. He shook his head. It was stupid. But did it mean more than what he was interpreting? Didn't dreams always seem to convey some hidden meaning? Or was he overthinking things?
He opened his eyes again. Perhaps some housekeepers had come and cleaned up the mess, because there was no pile of broken glass in front of him anymore. There was just an extremely long hallway. Gothic, ornate decorations adorned the walls. The wallpaper was dark and gritty, tearing at the edges, reaching down to the floor like tree limbs seeking the structure of the ground or stalactites fighting to comply with gravity. The floor was made of cracked oak; there were various stains of what he hoped were paint and not blood. Kotton's limbs suddenly started to feel like wet birch; they tingled like he had been shot with a bolt of lightning. He tried lifting them, but couldn’t find the strength, so he relied on his legs to carry him further into the dream.
He strode carefully, feeling each and every creak and moan of the floorboards beneath his steps. His heart beat rambunctiously after each startling vibration. Why was there so much random shit happening?
After what seemed to be a long ass time of walking, a door emerged. It was red and in the middle of said door there was a door-knocker in the shape of a head. It had pointed horns coming out of either side of its forehead. It's eyes were crescent moons. They seemed angry and Kotton did not like the feeling it gave.
No. Fucking. Way. He thought. Who would ever try to enter this door? Much less use the door knocker? Were they stupid? Intoxicated? Or, much like him, out of options? He shook his head and rolled his eyes, trying to find guidance in the above. Conveniently, he was met with nothing other than a spider web coating a chandelier. He huffed. Grasping the door knocker, he let it hit the door three times.
Comically, nothing happened. One... two... three.
Then the door decided to open. On its own. There was no one there to greet him- another bad sign that couldn't- nay- shouldn't be ignored. But he shoved that little piece of information toward the back of his mind. Yeah, no, he continued forward without a second thought.
Inside, he found a master bedroom, a king sized bed cordoning off the back wall. A thick duvet the colour of egg shells embellished the mattress. Small swirls of embroidery caught his eye. There were two pillows at the top of the bed, both a deep rich purple in colour. In his peripheral he noticed a racy outfit, definitely belonging to a woman, hanging on the doorknob to the closet.
He shuffled toward it and reached to hold its sleeve up to his nose. A strong scent of lavender mixed with honey and some other feminine smell wafted into his nose. He closed his eyes and relished the smell before letting go of the sleeve. The rest of the room called for his need to explore it. There was a desk in the corner on the other side of the room from the bed. It was covered in cosmetic brushes, flowers, and small containers of makeup. Given the attire he had just seen, it was safe to assume that a woman lived here. But did she really need such a huge bed and two pillows?
A creak resounded through the room. It was the reverberation that threw Kotton’s attention toward the far wall. There, a door was slowly opening. Past it revealed a young woman wearing nothing but a robe. The material was shiny like satin, the shade of peals freshly picked from the ocean floor, and it sparkled amidst the candlelight that illuminated the bedroom.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she mused, her eyes locking onto Kotton's.
“You’re-?” he began before being enveloped in an enormous hug that would have suffocated anyone. He tried to break away, but was only held tighter in response. Once the woman had felt the connection had lasted a sufficient time did she release him. Then, she leant forward and planted a wet kiss on his left cheek.
This was completely and totally weird, Kotton determined as he metaphorically scratched his head.
“Your performance last night was lacking,” the woman spoke, her voice low and seductive, like a babbling brook, water gently cascading past rocks and pebbles.
Whilst he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about, he instinctively felt embarrassed. He hadn’t performed well? He hadn’t given this woman what she desired? She seemed, after all, like a beautiful specimen deserving of immense pleasure.
Kotton abruptly found interest in his shoes. They were scuffed from the short, tentative strides he made through the ancient, wooden hallway. “I apologise,” he murmured. He registered all too late that this was not the correct thing to say, for the woman before him turned to face him head on. Her face scrunched with a look of pure hatred.
“You never perform well!” she seethed, throwing one of the purple pillows at him. He caught it, but only in the time it took for her to throw the other pillow. This one he missed completely. It slammed into his face, but thankfully it was soft.
Kotton’s pulse decided to pulse unbridled. He didn’t understand what was happening. The desk to his left sat beneath an ovular mirror, and within that mirror was his reflection. He watched as his reflection started to shift making movements Kotton himself was not making.
“That’s one of your fears, isn't it?” grumbled his reflection.
Kotton’s eyebrows creased whilst bewilderment carved itself into his face.
The mirror continued without pause. “You are afraid you will never find someone who will love you. And if you do, you fear she will leave you because you are not what she wants.”
Kotton’s eyes flickered back and forth across the floor. He felt incredibly uncomfortable and this feeling made it almost impossible for his eyes to focus. This was probably worse than than dreaming about delivering a speech in front of a bunch of strangers; it was even almost worse than being naked in front of a group of people. He held his tongue, unable to respond. He could only stand and stare and take what was being thrown at him.
His other self smirked and nodded his head rhythmically. “I thought as much.”
Impulsively, the young woman threw her open hand towards Kotton's face, slapping him hard across the cheek.
Sitting up in his bed, he fought for breath. He swallowed hard several times and placed an unsteady hand upon his chest. He stared straight forward into a reflection of himself. Whilst his first instinct was to look away, he held his ground. His right cheek was as red as the sun’s setting and it throbbed without mercy.
