I recoil in horror, in sudden shock and nausea.

She does the same. The back comes towards me, the hand like my own, outstretched, stretches away from me. I shudder and watch her shudder too.

I swallow and step forwards again, leaning in and seeing her leaning away. There's no mirror in front of her, just darkness. I can't see what she's looking at but it's a mirror, alright. It has to be. If she's me and I'm me too, but she's in there, then where am I? Am I out here, or in there, or is out here just an in there from in there?

I shake my head.

Sleep deprivation, that's all it is. I'll wake up in the morning and it will all be good. It'll all be right.

I peel myself away from the ghostly visage of my other self and sweep towards the bedroom.

The bed squeaks as I collapse onto it, and the ghastly ringing of the rusted springs persists in my head long after its dissipated in the air. Whose springs are they? It's a mystery, or is it? I mean, if there's another one of me in the mirror, then she might also be in bed, sloshing into the sheets exhausted and half dead. Is it her springs I can hear? Or is it more again? A symphony of springs from across the multitude of parallel mes parallel beds across the parallel worlds. Who can say? It doesn't discomfort me to think about it. If anything, it's kind of comforting, to know that there are others like me - other mes out there who are going through what I am. The same daily swirl of misery.

That thought comforts us all to sleep.