Fiction: The Distorted Mirror by Malina Douglas

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As Aurélie strolled the lake path, a couple strode towards her and blocked her way.

         “You,” said the woman, dark brows drawing together in a look of condemnation. “How dare you show your face here!”

         “Why?” demanded Aurélie.

         “It really is shameful of you to deny it,” said the man, with a high brow and probing eyes.

         “Deny what?” Aurélie’s voice rose in pitch. “I’ve never seen you before in my life!”

         “Don’t play the fool with me.” His contempt struck her like a slap.

         “I swear it!”

         The man and the woman exchanged a look.

         “She has memory lapses. It’s part of her condition,” said the woman. Her sun-weathered face crinkled.

         The man leaned close till Aurélie saw the lines etched in his face. “Be warned. If you harm anyone again, you’ll pay for it.” He took the woman’s arm and turned away.

         The woman shot her a hate-filled look.

         Aurélie walked on, her whole body trembling.

         She had never purposely offended anyone. Her mind whirled, seeking to unravel what happened. But her mind could form no image of what could be so horrible it would trigger their reactions.

         Aurélie sped up till her sandals slapped the footpath.

         She flew past restaurants. Through a screen of ferns, a man ate in languid motions. A couple lounged in a bamboo pavilion. On her right, a steep grassy bank sloped down to the lake, the vast surface smooth and rippling.

         Aurélie sank onto a bench by a drooping willow. As she gazed at the water, a boy approached selling keychains. He fixed her with wide hopeful eyes and she bought one. He didn’t have change, so she told him to keep the remainder. His face broke into a grin and he set off skipping.

         Further along, a small girl in yellow dress was standing on the footpath, wailing. A mother in a sari of gold-trimmed orange was bending towards the child, speaking in sweet tones with no effect. 

         A father in a collared shirt spoke to his wife in an accusatory tone. They began to bicker, voices growing louder as the child wailed on.

         Aurélie squatted at the little girl's level and held out the keychain, a round wooden disc.

         The little girl looked at it, then at her. She fell silent. She reached out to touch it and Aurélie moved it towards her. Her large eyes flickered back and forth as it swayed.

         “For you,” said Aurélie.

         The girl's eyes lit up as she took it. The parents thanked her profusely and invited her for chai.

         She joined them at a round table, sipped a milky masala chai and felt at ease.

         She remembered the incident and a shiver stole through her. She watched the ebb and flow of people along the footpath as she searched for her reflection.

*

         Aurélie walked into a café with an outdoor courtyard. Vines wound up the pillars supporting a corrugated roof.

         At a wooden table sat a man with short tousled hair and a prickly chin. She had met him on the bus from Kathmandu, and they'd shared every bump of the eight hour journey.

         “Sorren!” she exclaimed.

         He greeted her grinning and introduced her to the woman beside him. Cream linen accented bronze skin and her dark hair glinted with highlights.

         “This is Inés.”

         “Hi, I’m Aurélie.” She extended her hand.

         Indentations appeared like ripples on Inés’ forehead. “We’ve met. Don’t you remember?”

         “No, we haven’t,” said Aurélie. “I arrived last night.”

         Inés’ thin brows drew together. “But I’ve seen you.”

         She turned to a youth with inked lettering down his neck. “Lucio! Doesn’t she look just like Veleria?”

         Lucio drew a tattooed finger across his lips. “The shape of her face, her eyes... Yes.”

         He eyed Aurélie’s purple-grey pencil skirt and lace blouse. “But her clothing is more refined. And her mannerisms... Vel would never curl her finger beside her chin.”

         “You’re right,” said Inés.

         “A couple mistook me for her,” began Aurélie, “But they were so angry... What happened?”

         Inés’ look darkened. “She pulled out a knife and ran at Greta.”

         “But why?”

         “I don’t know. The next day she was civil to everyone. When I mentioned the incident, she didn’t remember.”

         “Strange...” said Aurélie. “Has anyone tried to help her?”

         “She’s beyond help,” said Lucio.

         Aurélie crossed her arms. “I refuse to believe that. If she’s so like me, I must do something. Maybe I’m the only one who can.”

         “I don’t know,” said Lucio.

         “Do you have her contact?”

         “I don’t. But it's a small place here. You’ll meet her.”

         “One thing,” said Inés. “Be careful. You can’t predict her actions.”

         “I will.” Aurélie stood and set off down the lake path, eyes seeking with new alertness.

*

         Aurélie walked around Pokhara with a mix of caution and dread. When she sat in cafés, every movement made her turn.

         She searched for flickers of recognition in shopkeepers’ eyes. When she found them, her mind strained to work out how her double had acted, but drew blanks. Her eyes scanned every person she passed on the lake, till she realised she was seeking herself in all of them.

         After three long and tightly wound days, Aurélie felt exhausted. When Sorren told her that around the far end of the lake lay a village, she decided to go there.

         Afternoon sun glinted off the lake as she walked along it. She passed Nepali women in summery dresses, long hair loose to their waists. Fishermen sat with bare feet in the water and a vendor on bicycle threaded past her.

         There, walking towards her was a slim, pale woman. When she drew close, Aurélie saw her face was a mirror of her own. But the woman’s eyes were wilder and her hair flowed in a dark tangled mass past her shoulders. As if to oppose Aurélie’s neat blouse, she wore a faded black t-shirt with letters in an illegible scrawl. Her trousers were baggy and frayed at the ends.

         The woman stopped and stared.

         Aurélie stared back.

         “You have my face,” she said. Then she laughed, loud open-mouthed laughter that spilled to the sky and caused passersby to pause, staring.

         Aurélie compressed her lips and looked down.

         “Who are you?” asked the stranger.   

         “I’m Aurélie.” She reached her hand out.

         There was a pause as wary eyes watched her. Then the woman took her hand. Her palm felt calloused.

         “Call me Vel.” Her voice was clear and hard.

         Aurélie set her hands on her hips. “There are people that think that I’m you.”

         Vel’s look contained satisfaction. “I can see that.”

         “It’s causing problems.”

         Vel shrugged. “Then leave.”

         The solution was so simple. For a moment, Aurélie considered it. Then her voice came, quiet but firm. “No. You’ve been attacking people. Why?”

         “They disturbed me,” said Vel.

         “There must be more to it than that.”

         “I just... snapped.” She shrugged. “It happens.”

         “But you can learn to control it.”  

         “Don’t tell me what to do!” Vel glared at her, her eyes containing a warning.

         Aurélie stared back. “Something troubles you. And since we’re so similar—”

         “The surface is where our similarities end.”

         Aurélie bit her lip. “But I have insights that can help you.”

         “You think you're the better version of me?” smirked Vel.

         “I don’t mean it like that. I can heal you.”

         “It’s too late for that.”  

         “Let me try.” Aurélie reached out her hands.

         “Get away from me!” shrieked Vel.

         Several people paused in their tracks.

         Aurélie leapt back. “I haven’t done anything!”

         Vel’s voice shifted, becoming as smooth as the waters of the lake. “If you knew what I’ve suffered, you wouldn’t bother.”

         She glided past, leaving Aurélie staring after her.

*

         Aurélie sat on a bench at an overlook. Beyond a vast spread of rooftops, Fewa Lake stretched out in a silvery swath of water, the hills on the far side blue-tinged with distance. Crowning one of them was a white pagoda, reminding Aurélie of the peace she intended to seek. She relaxed her gaze but her thoughts refused to still. Instead of becoming as smooth as the lake, they roiled like a turbid ocean.

         At a flicker of movement, she turned.

         Vel emerged from the trail, in a royal blue singlet and flowing black trousers.

         Aurélie stiffened. “How did you find me?”

         Vel’s mouth hinted at a smile. “The same way you heard about me.” Her face turned serious. “Look—I’m sorry.”

         “It's okay,” said Aurélie, smothering her surprise. “I shouldn’t have presumed.”

         “Can I sit?”

         “Sure.”

         Vel sat on the bench beside Aurélie. A scar edged her cheekbone, and Aurélie found it hard to look away. Looking at her, she realised, was like peering into a distorted mirror.

         “Inés told me what you did. And, to be honest, it scares me.”

         Vel stared at her, unblinking. “Do you feel threatened by me?”

         “No. What scares me even more is that I contain that potential too.”

         Vel’s voice softened. “We all do.” She stroked a hand along Aurélie’s bare arm.

         Aurélie shivered.

         Vel dug her nails into Aurélie’s skin.

         “Ouch! What was that for?”

         “To leave my mark. You seek to change me but it is I who will change you.”

         Aurélie wrenched her arm free. “I won’t let you!”

         “I already have.”

         Aurélie gasped and leapt to her feet. As she ran down the trail, she was followed by Vel’s laughter.

Malina Douglas is inspired by the encounters that shape us. In 2023 she was awarded first place in the Oxford Flash Fiction Prize and made the top three of the Leicester Writes Prize. She was a finalist in the Four Palaces Fiction Anthology Contest and published in their anthology, Desire to Escape. Publications include the National Flash Fiction Day Anthology, Typehouse, The Rumen, Ginosko Literary, Backstory Journal, Samjoko Magazine, Over/Exposed Lit, Consequence Forum, and Because That's Where Your Heart Is from Sans Press. She based in Tbilisi, Sakartvelo where she runs a weekly writing group. She is an alumna of Smokelong Summer and can be found on X and BlueSky @iridescentwords.