Simon was sent on a mission that crossed every moral line he swore he’d never even think about crossing again. But orders were orders and he had to carry them out, burying the guilt like he always did. He had to clear the room, he had no choice. The innocent and the bad, they all had to go. But the dead didn’t stay silent tonight.

Something had followed him home. He woke up in a cold silence, aches crawling up his neck and sides. His head felt heavier, much heavier. Only when he looked in his reflection, nothing was there.

It wasn’t until he walked into the room and accidentally startled you, your scream bounced off the walls, cutting through the silence that was once there. There were 2 extra heads on either side of him, zombie like. Twisted versions of himself. You saw them, he didn’t.

The extra heads never appeared in mirrors. And never in photos. Every one but him could see them. Could feel them.

Days passed. Simon stopped sleeping. He finally got to the point where he felt safe enough to sleep around you, and it all went downhill. He stopped going out. He didn’t reply to work messages. He felt odd and ashamed of the part of him that he couldn’t see, so he isolated himself from you too. Locked himself in your room, not even coming out for food.

Until he was finally able to see why he got so many stares.

He got the courage to look at himself in the mirror again. His restless eyes and exhausted expression looking back at him in the broken mirror, which he had broken in anger when questioning what was wrong with himself. 3 heads were visible. One was angry. One was hissing in disgust. And the other stayed blank, the expression he taught himself.

He smashed the glass, shards flying by. His knuckles ached. The face’s stayed, this was real.

The fiddle from the bedroom door handle brought him back into reality. You walked in, worried with the sounds you just heard. “Simon…?”

“Don’t,” he said harshly, hearing your footsteps approach the bathroom. “Don’t come closer. Don’t look at me. I’m a monster.”