I spent eight months imprisoned in a bathroom. Food was pushed under the door.
Pancakes mostly; maybe some deli ham.
The only company I had was the man in the mirror. “Why? Why?” I screamed at him. He never answered, just childishly mimicked my every move.
Finally I really examined the door. It was locked from the inside.
That deepened my concerns.
Outside, I found a house with a woman living in it. Her wedding ring matched mine.
“Why?” I shouted at her.
“You made me,” she said, cringing.
No, not me. It was that damned man in the mirror.