Very few things could have stopped me in my tracks as quickly as the poster I was faced with. I squinted at it in the twilight's glow, hoping against all odds that the person in the photograph was anyone but who they appeared to be. But no. It was a picture of me, of that there was no doubt.

​

I pried it from the telephone pole and brought it to my face, still in disbelief. What was I doing on a missing persons poster? Was this a prank? Or something more sinister?

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I glanced around the darkened streets, suddenly paranoid. My heart plunged as I realized that every shop- every corner- every post- every window- was adorned with pictures of my face smiling back at me.

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I wanted to run, to get home, to find myself in a mirror and peer at my reflection to assure myself that I was, in fact, still very much *not* missing. I started to, but froze when I saw a lone silhouette bustling along on the other side of an otherwise empty street. For some reason my feet began walking toward them, my throat tight and my heart assaulting my ribs. They paid no attention to my footsteps echoing over the pavement and they kept their back to me until I cleared my throat.

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"Excuse me? Excuse me, sorry. Could you kindly answer a question for me?" I asked, holding out the flyer. They turned slowly, their dark hoodie obscuring the features of their face. I let out a gasp when I saw what was in their hands. They were holding a large stack of the missing person posters with my face on them, in the dim lighting their benign expressions seemed almost menacing.

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"…You…" I faltered, backing away, "You're the one who's been putting them up…"

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The figure nodded, placing the stack on the side walk.

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"Why are you doing this?" I asked, my voice quivering despite my efforts. They didn't answer.

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"Are you- are you going to hurt me?!" I cried.

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The figure shook its head. The voice that crept out to me from the shadows was one I was more than familiar with.

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"No. I'm here to show you…" they rasped, stepping closer.

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"Show me… show me what?" I whimpered, trying my hardest to turn away but finding it impossible.

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"What is… and what is not."

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With that, the figure reached up to its hood, pulling it down slowly. The eyes that emerged were the same that I stared into every time I'd looked in a mirror.

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"What does it… what does it mean?" I moaned, crumpling to the ground.

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I looked down at myself with pity as the scene around us began melting away into nothingness.

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"It's simple," I said to myself, "There are things that are. And things that are not. There are some things that should be…"

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I placed a sympathetic hand on our shoulder.

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"And we…" I told us, "Are something that should not."