This is the second of a series of fifty-word stories that I originally wrote for a special edition of an online journal.
I Touch Myself and Think of Me
I’m sleeping with the girl in the mirror. My nipples get hard against her cold body; I watch her face in puddles and shop windows.
Last night she asked, “Is there someone else?”
(Sometimes the person in the mirror is a man.)
I lie: “just us two, just us two.”