A strange look at the inside world

A Story by HELLCAT

I sat down and just started writing whatever came into my head. This is what came out.

So I'm sitting here staring at the keys, wondering which ones to press first. All of a sudden I here this tap tap on the window. Maybe its just rain, so I go back to thinking about how to start this story, and what it should even be about; real shitstorming. Tap tap again. What is that? Fine, I guess I can go investigate the scene. I get up from my chair and yank the shutters open quickly. It's pitch black outside and all I can see is my reflection in the window looking back at me, and then tap the window. Wait a minute, did my reflection just tap the window? I blink several times and rub my eyes with my sweaty hands, as does my reflection. "Yes, I tapped the window, no need to ask me." he says flatly. Wait, now he's talking as well? "What is this?" I ask, mostly to myself, but I guess that doesn't matter seeming that I'm talking to my reflection. "Put your fingers on the glass." he says, placing the tips of my, no, his fingers on the cold sheet of glass, beckoning for me to connect. I hesitantly raise my hand, slowly reaching for the glass. The second I touch it I am yanked through the other side, not outside of my room, but more like another dimension of my own room, yet different. A parallel universe, I guess anyways. As soon as I am through, my reflection has changed. Not my reflection as in the actual me, but the one who suggested I come here in the first place, he is no longer myself. Wait a minute, would that mean that I am no longer myself as well? I mean, I can't exactly know for sure can I? If I look in a mirror, would I see him or me? Or maybe he is me? No no, I am him. This is confusing and frustrating and bewildering! "Relax." He mumbles. "Just who in the hell are you?" I demand. He stares for a minute, and then cracks a grin. "Come on, I've lived with you for years, and you don't recognize me after all this time? After we finally get to meet, man to man?" At this point I'm at a loss for words. "Come on man, it's me! You! Well, the other you that is. You know, the voice in your head that always has the best suggestions, but you're always too scared to listen." He stops and stares at me, waiting for my reply. I stare back blankly, in a stupor, conjuring god knows what in my head. What's going on? I have to be dreaming. This is a dream right? I hope so, this is definitely a dream. He sighs now. "Look would you quit thinking so much and just listen? I'm your alter ego. Just accept that, and I've brought you here because it's time we had a talk without interuption." More blank stares from me. More thinking. And all of a sudden, this purple-ish green smoke begins to rise from the carpet. Its creeping out of the walls ever so slowly, the ceiling fan carressing it softly. It forms into some lanky, arm type object and suddenly solidifies. It's this floating black purple-ish greenish arm now with scales all over it and some wicked looking nails. I mean, this thing just looks scary. "Um...what is that thin--" before I can finish the sentence the arm has its cold dead fingers around my throat. I can feel the slimy scales digging into my neck. It's like a giant vice grip. "Not again, come on! This happens everytime you are confronted with something that threatens you." I stare at him in bewilderment and shock and anger. What the hell is he talking about? Why the hell isn't he getting this thing off me? I grab the arm and try to rip it off. It won't budge. I start slamming it into the nearby wall. Nothing. I look to him for help and he just stands there shaking his head. "You're scared. This is your fear, not mine. I can't help you with it.