Shattered Reflections

The gun cocks, ready to fire at whatever stands in its way. The barrel meets its exact copy; two weapons stare each other down, waiting, daring the other to make a move, the same as their wielders.

Two people, two guns, two sides of a mirror.

Neither side willing to lose.

The opponents stand an arm's length from the mirror, their middle ground, guns mere millimetres from touching. Sweat forms between palms and pearl grips as they continue their staring contest of will. Both eyes hold a certain crazed quality within them that would make a person wonder if this dual was proposed by clear minds - though no one is there to make that observation.

Their nerves stretch tight but the silence stretches on. Both are ready to shoot; their fingers balancing on the trigger, guns ready to fire at the smallest flinch. The tension builds, and, with hearts racing and lungs heaving to catch up, it hits a peak.

Two lips twist into a deranged smile, eyes wide and fearful. Both see a brutal killer within the other, and a tormented victim within themselves. They will not allow the other to win. They will not be the one to lose.

Moments before the mirror shatters, a voice echos through the space.

“I win.”