Quick Fiction: The Double


He was standing there lost in front all of those mirrors that surrounded him in this small space of two square meters. The mirrors were set up in a way where each reflection of him in one is reflected again in the other, forming an endless reflections of the same image, the same person, the same him.

He looked closer, trying to identify each image, each reflection. They all looked back at him, with the same body gesture, the same movement, but in different angles allowed by the tilt of each mirror. In the back of his head, he had a favorite, and that was him at the end, the smallest furthest reflection of them all.

Not sure why, maybe the size made him the cutest, or maybe the distance made him the least imposed, or most lost?

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Revelations


Freud hit me again last night. I was thinking of 3 different issues in the past couple of

Haunted Writing

days related to my study and work. One is about Death and Utopia, the second is about the transition from the big storyline to the sub Utopian storyline in the novel I am working on now, and the last is the two pages creative work I have to submit to my psychoanalysis class next Friday.

Before I went to bed, I had no clue, my conscious was blank, with no idea of what I am going to do with these 3 matters. I guess, the level of tension in my unconscious was high. It seized the chance of the night, the absentee of the ego. It woke me up, as if the little gene in the back of my head had all of the solution and wanted to spell it out. I wasn’t aware of that, and with a soar throat and tiresome, all I wanted was to sleep again. But the little gene whispered his wisdom in my ears, the solution for all the three:

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