Strings and Mirrors

I lingered behind the gilded velvet arch of the miniature theater, where a tiny wooden figure dangled from tangled strings on a brass hook. It wore a miniature monochrome ruffled suit and a microscopic top hat, carved in my exact spitting image. Resting my toy chainsaw against the painted proscenium pillar, I lifted the miniature wooden control cross with delicate fingers. A light twitch of my wrist lifted its tiny arms; a sudden tilt sent its carved wooden head sharply sideways in exact mimicry of my own posture. Delighted by my little twin's jerky, silent bow, I froze mid-gesture with an enormous soundless grin, mirroring its crooked, suspended dance.

2 Nauks