Turning the corner, I run right into myself, almost literally. A huge mirror is the wall facing me. I watch my twin in the mirror. She is tired and tense, but has a sense of purpose that prevents sleep from taking over. I sigh and approach my twin. Our hands raise together to meet at the edge of the mirror. My nails help to pry open the space between mirror and wall, and my twin disappears as the mirror slides over to reveal a dark closet space.
The shelves are lined with surprisingly clean picture frames and dark jars. I reach into the musty air and pull a jar carefully from the shelf. I twist it open and discover several tablespoons of a questionable substance. Almost white, and powdery. No doubt people use this as a hiding spot for their own particular interests. I return the jar to its place and drag a cardboard box out from behind the mirror. As I sit down, I drop my bag from my shoulder and shrug off my jacket.
Several different objects lie against each other in the cardboard cave. The book is a couple hundred pages and falls open to a random page. By glancing at the first few sentences, I assume it’s a cookbook. Next is a framed picture like those of the closet. It’s nothing extraordinary, just a young couple smiling at the camera. I pull out more seemingly unconnected objects: a broken watch, a gold necklace, and a pair of round glasses. Finally, at the bottom of the box is a folded sheet of soft fabric. I gingerly pluck the fabric from the box and place it on my lap. I take a handful of the material and inhale deeply. It smells of incense, rain, and time. I stand awkwardly, stumbling over the objects around me, and let the fabric fly across the floor, spreading out in each direction.
The design on the sheet is clear and evident, but I circle the sheet, tugging at corners to erase all wrinkles. It lies on the floor, bold and brazen as the imagery assaults my eyes. The entire fabric is ivory, but various shapes and symbols crop up around the border. The middle is intriguing. Triangular shards of color pierce two snakes, one black, and one white. The snakes twist around a huge tree and disappear in the leaves.  I turn back to the objects I left before and place the photo, cookbook, glasses, watch, and necklace all in the center image, in the leaves of the tree. Nothing. Frowning, I go back to examine the box. I missed nothing. I turn my gaze back to the trinket-strewn tapestry, and idea forming. Hesitantly, I place one foot after the other into the middle of the circle and concentrate. I turn the symbol over and over and over again in my mind until suddenly, I lose control of all senses, all knowledge. But my twin knows. Because my twin does the same. My twin is floating in the air, eyes blazing bright white light fractured with flashes of kaleidoscopic colors, mouth open in a silent scream that never ends, stomach churning as though falling down, down, down. Then, it is over.
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I open my eyes to see a tall man wearing familiar glasses staring curiously at me.
“Alice, are you quite alright?” He offers me a hand, which I accept as I notice an unmoving watch on his wrist, and I turn my head to take in my environment. It seems to be a house like any other, but this house is old. The floorboards creak under my feet. I look down to examine my own well-being, when I realize it. My clothes have changed as well. My hair is rolled in perfectly pinned curls and my faded jeans and Led Zeppelin t-shirt have transformed into an airy red dress. I wear a golden necklace strikingly similar to the one in the box.  I meet the man’s hazel eyes again.
“Where...?” I begin to ask, utterly baffled, when he stops me.
“You must have hit your head when you fell down.” He looks concerned and leads me to a long sofa. “Why don’t you sit and rest awhile?” He suggests, moving books from the sofa’s edge. When I recognize a familiar spine, I grab the book and allow it to fall open.
‘2 cups of flour
2 eggs
1 cup of sugar…’
“Impossible.” I state simply, and fall onto the sofa and into the tumbling darkness of sleep.