I got this writing prompt here.
I never believed they existed, but this one is starting right at me. She’s not just alive. She has her own mind, her own identity.
Her mannerisms are even different from mine.
We look similar, yes, and if you don’t pay much attention you can get fooled. She’s like the photocopy of me – or do I look like the photocopy of hers? Am I just the copy, and her, the original?
I don’t know what I did wrong this morning when I woke up. Suddenly after washing my face in the bathroom, while I was coming back to my bed, I saw her standing there in the corner of my room just in front of my side table.
You have no idea how terribly I freaked out. I pissed my panties. My feet got wet.
And she was like that staring at me in a sad way. She doesn’t really look scary, to be honest. She doesn’t look like a ghost or a zombie. There’s nothing strange about her. She looks exactly like me… just…sad. She’s coated in this cloak of sadness. She looks more of a dying person or a mental patient than someone who came back from the dead. But I guess there isn’t much of a difference among those.
I keep mentioning about death because I really thought she was dead. She should have been long ago.
People in my town would sometimes talk about Echoes. Yes, they have a name. That’s how they’re called.
From what I’ve heard about them, they’re versions of ourselves from our past. They’re like faded copies of ourselves, thus the term, “echo”. Meaning, the version of myself now automatically has its own echoes somewhere in the future. The infinite versions of myself, my echoes, can stretch into the far future, to until when I cannot really determine.
They say that our present selves and our echoes shouldn’t ever meet because they exist in different dimensions. Their frequencies simply don’t match.
Since I don’t remember my mother telling me I have a twin, this woman right here must be one of my echoes, or maybe I have just gone totally crazy.