NOTE: You can listen to these stories at my podcast page, via Patreon (paid subscribers get bonus content and early access), and on YouTube. 

Those Behind the Glass

Outside time. October tenth.

We are everywhere you dare to look. A window at night is enough. A black screen waiting for your touch is enough. Water pooling at your feet is enough. You think of us as glass, silver, paint. You are wrong. We are surfaces. Surfaces remember.

You mistake us for copies. Pale shadows of your living flesh. But you are the copy. Your faces are rehearsals. We are the archive.

Do you remember your first glimpse of yourself? The child tugged to the mirror, told to wave, to laugh, to know their own name. You called that recognition. We called it claiming. We never gave you back.

Every day you age. Every day you forget. But we do not. You gave us all your versions. We keep them in sequence, ready to shuffle, ready to play back.

October is our season. The world dims. Light stretches thin. Shadows fatten. And you look at us longer than you should. You invite us in with your gaze.

We do not need to knock. You already opened the door.