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Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Dark · #2178951
This is based on a movie I saw called I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House.
Into the darkest darkness of the night

Where nothing can be seen, except one figurine

All dressed in white.

She is seven feet five inches tall, wears a Victorian-era outfit, has waist-length blonde curly hair.

She has also elbow-length lace gloves, and a stick of some sort, leaning on her right leg, as if it were holding her up, preventing her from falling over.

She never turns to face you, but she does move her head in the tiniest and ever so slightest direction upward toward the sky. Raising a finger, she points directly at you, startling you with great surprise.

Captivated by her, not ever able to see her face, you move close to her. She whispers something ever so slightly, in an audible whisper, “Stop. Do not come any closer, my friend, or you shall be zapped into all eternity and not be able to return to the life you once thought you knew. I’m sorry to whisper this to you, my friend, but- “

She suddenly turns toward you, wanting to see what you look like.

The moment you actually see her face, you feel agony, pain, anger, hurt, bewilderment, frustration, all the negative feelings one feels when one is alone, in a pitiful way that you have never felt before.

“Who are you? What happened to you? Why do you feel like this? Why hurt me, a stranger in your midst? Why did you beckon me here? What have I done?” I asked her, in the most terrified and smallest voice I have spoken in my entire life.

“My dear sweet gal, “she whispered. “Why, I am you, at the end of time. A time all people in your world have forgotten. I am your past, present, and future. I am a reflection of you and what has happened in your life. My sweet, sweet gal. I am anything and everything that you did not know, know now, and will know in the future. Oh, don’t look upset. I know this is confusing, but it will make sense in the end. When it is your turn, you will understand why I am in this state. I wish I could escape this bubble, but that I cannot do, ever.”

“If you are me,” I asked, looking at her very shocked, “then why can’t you escape this prison you are in?”

Looking at me tearfully for a minute, she smiled. “Prison, you ask? You think I live in a prison? My sweet gal, “my reflection said, cackling like a witch. “Your current world is a prison in itself. I am on the other side, watching you, constantly haunting the ones who dare hurt you. That, my gal, is why you and only you can see and feel me. You are never alone. For I am always with you.”

“Why do you keep saying, ‘my sweet gal’? I don’t understand, I said, staring back at the figurine.

She was now sitting on the ground, her beautiful dress sprawled across the ground. She patted the ground next to her, inviting me to sit with her. I looked at her apprehensively, but she smiled. “Come, now. Do not be frightened. For I am your friend. I will always be your friend. I call you ‘my sweet gal’, because, well, I am your own reflection. I change with time, as do you.”

“But, those words, “You are never alone”; “For I am always with you”; “Why you and only you can see and feel me” … aren’t those words reflective of Jesus?”

She nodded.

I joined her, my own reflection.

Grabbing my hand, she held me, and took me into her world.

I was never seen or heard from again.

I now walk an ethereal path between both worlds, watching humanity carry on like no one had noticed I was even gone.
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