Alter Ego

"You're running out of time, Mary."

The words floated up from the pond's surface like mist, carried by a voice that was mine but wasn't – smoother, more confident, with an edge that made my skin crawl. I peered into the dark water, watching as my reflection shifted and changed, becoming something familiar yet foreign. Same brown eyes, but sharper. Same round face, but somehow more angular. Same pale skin, but it seemed to glow with an inner light I'd never possessed.

"Shut up," I muttered, hugging my knees to my chest. The damp grass beneath me had long since soaked through my jeans, but I couldn't leave. Not yet. The waning moon hung low in the sky, casting just enough light to create shadows. This was the only time I could see her – my other self, my darker half. My problem.

She laughed, the sound rippling across the water. "That's not very nice, considering I'm trying to help you. You know as well as I do that you're not living up to your potential. You're letting life pass you by, hiding in your shell. Someone needs to take control."

"By replacing me?" My voice cracked. "I found your journal hidden in my room. I saw what you've been planning."

The reflection's smile widened. "Ah, so you finally discovered it. I was wondering how long it would take. Tell me, what did you think of my preparations? Quite thorough, aren't they?"

I thought about the pages I'd discovered three nights ago, tucked away in a shoebox under my bed – a shoebox I didn't remember putting there. Pages filled with my handwriting, but not my words. Details about my life, my family, my friends. Notes about my habits, my weaknesses, my secrets. And most disturbing of all, a countdown to the next full moon, with the words "transition complete" written in bold letters at the bottom of the page.

"You've been watching me," I said. "Learning everything about me. But why? You're already part of me."

"Am I?" She tilted her head, and the reflection rippled again. "Or am I what you could be? What you should be? Think about it, Mary. When was the last time you spoke up in class, even though you knew the answer? When was the last time you wore something that made you feel beautiful, instead of hiding in those oversized hoodies? When was the last time you told Jake how you really feel about him?"

My cheeks burned at the mention of Jake. Just yesterday, he'd stopped by my locker to ask if I wanted to study together for the upcoming chemistry test. I'd stammered out some excuse about having to help my mom with dinner, even though my heart was racing and I'd wanted nothing more than to say yes.

"That's different," I protested. "I just... I wasn't ready."

"You're never ready," she said, her voice gentler now, almost sympathetic. "That's why I'm here. To do what you can't. To be what you won't."

I picked up a small stone and tossed it into the pond, watching her image fracture into ripples. But when the water settled, she was still there, watching me with those knowing eyes.

"How are you even real?" I asked. "When did this start?"

"You know when." She paused, letting the words hang in the air. "Three months ago. The night of the accident."

My throat tightened. I didn't want to think about that night – the screeching tires, the shattering glass, the way time seemed to slow down as our car spun across the wet pavement. Mom had escaped with just a few bruises, but I'd hit my head hard enough to lose consciousness. When I woke up in the hospital two days later, something had felt... different.

"The doctors said I was lucky," I whispered.

"Lucky?" She laughed again, but there was no humor in it. "You came back different, Mary. Divided. You got to keep all the fear, all the hesitation, all the parts that hold you back. And I..." She gestured to herself, "I got everything else. The strength. The confidence. The will to actually live instead of just existing."

A cold breeze rustled through the trees surrounding the pond, making me shiver. Or maybe it wasn't the breeze at all.

"So what happens at the full moon?" I asked, although I already knew the answer. I'd seen it detailed in her journal – her journal, written in my hand.

"Balance will be restored," she said simply. "One consciousness, one body. As it should be."

"You mean you'll take over completely."

She shrugged, the gesture elegant even in reflection. "Someone has to. You're certainly not using this life to its full potential. Just today, you let Melissa copy your homework again without saying a word. You skipped dance team tryouts even though you've been practicing for weeks. You're letting your fears control you, Mary. I won't."

"Those are my choices to make," I said, but my voice sounded weak even to my own ears.

"Are they choices if they're made from fear? Is it really living if you're too afraid to take any risks?" She leaned closer, her image almost seeming to rise from the water. "I can give you everything you want. I can make you everything you're afraid to be."

"By erasing me completely?" My hands clenched into fists. "That's not help, that's... that's murder."

She tilted her head, considering. "Is it murder if I'm just setting free the person you were always meant to be? Think about it, Mary. Deep down, aren't you tired of being afraid? Of second-guessing every decision? Of lying awake at night regretting all the chances you didn't take?"

I was. God help me, I was. Every word she said struck a chord of truth that resonated through my whole being. But...

"There has to be another way," I said. "You're right – I am afraid. Too afraid, maybe. But I'm also kind. I think things through. I care about others' feelings. Those aren't weaknesses, they're part of who I am. Who we are."

"Were," she corrected. "I've moved beyond such limitations."

I stood up suddenly, my legs shaky but my voice stronger. "No. You haven't moved beyond them – you've lost them. And maybe that's why you're here. Not to replace me, but to learn from me, just as I need to learn from you."

For the first time, I saw uncertainty flicker across her perfect features. "What are you suggesting?"

"Integration, not elimination. You have qualities I need – confidence, courage, determination. But I have qualities you need too. Empathy. Thoughtfulness. Compassion." I took a deep breath. "We're not meant to be divided. The accident split us, but maybe we're supposed to choose to come back together. As something new. Something better."

The water's surface began to ripple without any wind or disturbance. My reflection – my other self – was silent for a long moment.

"The full moon is in three days," she finally said.

"Then we have three days to figure out how to do this right," I replied. "Together."

She smiled then, and for the first time, it wasn't sharp or predatory. It was small, uncertain, almost hopeful. "Together," she repeated, as if testing the word. "I... I think I'd like that."

As the waning moon continued its journey across the sky, we stayed by the pond, talking, planning, beginning the delicate work of knitting two halves back into a whole. And that was the first time since the accident, I felt truly awake. Something complete.