My own face peered back at me from the TV screen. For a moment, I struggled with the sensation of deja vu -- how many times had I seen myself like this now?
And then there was that easy grin that never seemed quite as quick or natural on my own lips, the dark, malicious twinkle in the eyes, and I knew who I was looking at.
As he pulled back and reavealed the room behind him, my throat went dry. There was nothing I could do but watch.
American Nightmare Manuscript: The Twisted Mirror
