And as she treads along the sidewalk, hearing nothing but the familiar sound of her shoes clicking on the pavement, she snaps off autopilot and realizes this is not her world anymore. Everything is as they are, but nothing feels to be in place. Even the crowds she usually smashes her way against suddenly possess faces.
She stops, and takes a moment to shake off the eeriness of the night.
‘This is not where she belongs,’ and the feeling begins building and scratching at the back of her skull.
She runs to the stoplight; 20 seconds till red light. She looks around, up the high rise she’s always been fond of, down to the traffic coming and going, and ahead of her where she sees it. . . her.
Right across, among the familiar strangers, is herself. Parallel to the other she sees the same clothes on.
Same mess of hair.
The same toasty mauve lipstick.
But the woman she’s looking at has a mouth essentially different from hers. Far too different that she can’t help but bite on the authenticity of her upper lip.
She doesn’t see her yet, so she watches. Being outside herself (or another her from another here), she takes in the view. The woman at the opposite side of this road looks up to a man she has just noticed with her. The woman covers her face with her hands– just as she does when she keeps control of a bursting smile. And he laughs with her.
She’s genuine, she thinks.
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interesting…”snaps off autopilot”…good line…also “another her from another here” love that. maybe needs some cleaning up in the large last paragraph? or not….