The next time you pass a dog
The next time you pass by a dog, it’s doesn’t snarl or try to run. Instead, it looks up at you. It’s tongue lolls out happily and you realize it has mirrors instead of eyes. Smooth and flawless. You see yourself staring back at you from within the dog’s face. Your fangs are sharp and your mouth is bloody.
You feel a sudden, sharp pang of guilt. You pat the dog on the head because you know it’s been a very good boy. The way you haven’t been. As you run your hand across it’s fur, you consider jamming your thumbs into it’s eyes and shattering those mirrors.