The Street Between Shadows

Some choices are made, and we must walk their tough streets.

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The street was near, yet distant. Shadows lingered too long on pavements, stretching like cobwebs. Familiar faces blurred as they drifted past, as if unwilling to be named. 

He found it in an alley–an old mirror, its frame cracked, silver eroding. The faint scent of rust came from its edges. The glass was too sharp–too ready to slice. Looking back at him was his face–but younger, frozen when rejected a lesser path. It moaned–a ghost seeking absolution. 

Time splintered. Lamposts bent out of shape. Sidewalks broke in fragments, and windows were in place where they shouldn’t have been. The air bore the scent of must–of burning library tomes. He felt the pull to repaint his canvas. 

But his feet stayed anchored. He let the mirror shatter, shards of glass scattering obediently at his feet. The shadows returned to their normal length, and the night breathed again. 

His chest heaved, but he steadied himself. He forged his path–he could only go forward. 

But a gust pulled him back. 

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