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A Feeling of Impending Doom
by Michael S. Collins

I thought I was about to die today. I had a feeling of impending doom, you see. The type that tingles all the way down the back of your spine, alerting you to fates unknown.

I first realised something was up when I saw the blood trickling down the mirror. Not my blood. It was trickling down the other side of the mirror, the reflection side, you see. If that isn’t a bad omen, I don’t know what is.

So I went about my day. Fired some people to try and calm my nerves down. Didn’t work. Got into a bus crash. Frayed my nerves, and got oil on my tie somehow, but I didn’t die. I was convinced someone was going to get hurt, and that someone was me.

At lunch, a bank robber took some pot shots at me. Thankfully, he was a worse shot than me, and missed repeatedly.

So the bus crash didn’t kill me. The bank robber didn’t. Neither did office stress. Or the fact that I am forty-three, which seems a more dangerous age to be than forty two, now you are no longer the answer to life itself.

I got home alright.

Not dead.

I looked at my tired expression in the mirror once more, and watched it clean itself. Strange, I was sure someone was going to get hurt today. Can’t think why. I must have been letting the spooks get to me, or something.

I emptied my pockets. The bloody knife and extra wallet fell into the sink. I glanced at the knife once more.

It needed washed. I washed it, smiled, and waved good night to my reflection. He said good morning.

But he was always contrary.