The future is in the mirror of others.
Ravel was deep in thought; the encounter with that old woman had turned his mind upside down… at least, that’s how it felt. She had shown him, in a small mirror, a glimpse of what his future might be. What he saw left him shaken, his thoughts spinning.
He was leaving work on Almirante Tavares Street and, as he turned the corner onto Baependí, he felt cold hands grabbing his arm. The woman introduced herself as someone who could reveal the future in a small mirror—he just had to say yes.
She smiled, her teeth incomplete, in an unsettling way that, for some reason, made Ravel say “yes.” She pulled a small mirror with a golden frame out of a flesh-colored purse and pointed it toward him… what he saw would rob him of peace for days to come, that March of 2057.
In the woman’s mirror, Baependí Street was shrouded in thick fog, buildings corroded by rust, fallen signs, empty shop windows. No sounds of people—just the wind, dragging leaves and plastic along cracks in the asphalt. In the reflection, a sky with no sun, no birds, only gray—as if time itself had stopped. And for a moment, Ravel saw himself, older, standing there, waiting for something or someone… or simply for the end.
Back at the Live to Rise Condominium, Ravel’s mind was on fire. The image from the woman’s mirror forced him to imagine thousands of outcomes, but none made sense, none felt right.
Throughout that week, Ravel wrestled with his thoughts. On Friday, as he left work on a mild afternoon and turned the corner again onto Baependí, he spotted a middle-aged man scribbling strange words on the wall:
“The future is in the mirror of others.”
Ravel stopped, watching. Sensing Ravel’s gaze, the man paused, turned, and stared back at him. In a rush of impulse, Ravel sprinted toward him. The man, startled, dropped a pen from his hand and took off, as if fleeing a mad predator.
He dashed with such desperation that he vaulted over the hood of a moving car, quickly putting distance between himself and his pursuer. Ravel stood on one side of the busy five-lane street, watching as the man, now on the other side, stared back—a silent standoff. For minutes that felt like hours, they remained locked in that gaze, as if in a duel. The noise of the cars was muffled, distant. Ravel thought about crossing, but there was something in the man’s eyes—an ancient fear, mixed with pleading—that froze him.
Then the man pulled something from his pocket—a small mirror, just like the woman’s. He held it up toward Ravel, as if offering a choice… or a threat. Ravel shivered, not understanding. The man gave a sad, mysterious smile, turned, and vanished into the crowd, leaving only the inscription on the wall:
“The future is in the mirror of others.”
Anxious and uneasy, Ravel went over to the wall, spotted the fallen pen, picked it up—and saw “AstraBio Tech” printed on its side.
Back home, Ravel looked up AstraBio Tech.
He found Amanda Laurence, the CEO, presenting the project:
“Cellular Regeneration.”
This project aimed to intravenously deliver a treatment that would allow the population of Deméter to live up to 130 years, over approximately four months. The process would regenerate cells up to three times before they became unviable.
Ravel met Amanda Laurence. He couldn’t believe that what he had seen in the mirror could have any connection to AstraBio Tech’s quest to expand life itself. Trying to clear his mind, he showered, ate, and went to bed.
The next morning, routine returned: coffee, work, an uneventful day—just the way he liked it. He walked home.
Passing Baependí again, he remembered the old woman, the man… but dismissed them as random events, mere nonsense, something to let go. He smiled to himself and carried on.
Back at the Live to Rise Condominium, he chatted a bit with Alencar, the doorman, who—by chance—was holding a mirror in his hands. Ravel talked with Alencar, his eyes fixed on the glass. While Alencar stepped away to fetch a delivery for another resident, Ravel felt the urge to pick up the mirror, as if expecting to see something beyond his own face.
But there was only his reflection: ordinary, tired. And for a moment, he wished that’s all it would ever be.
He put the mirror back and said goodbye to Alencar.
At home, Ravel felt lighter than he had in a long time. He drank wine, ate cheese, called Lidhia—a colleague from work for decades. They talked until late, then said goodnight, and he went to sleep. That night felt like a gift. He woke renewed, happy, even considering asking Lidhia out.
The next day at work was special; glances exchanged, Lidhia encouraging him. The day passed, but for some reason, he didn’t invite her.
He walked home again. At home, he shaved, showered, had dinner…
The doorbell rang. He thought of Lidhia and smiled. But they hadn’t made plans—and why would Alencar have let someone up without calling first?
He ran to the intercom:
— Alencar, my friend, who did you let up without calling?
— Mr. Ravel, your mother and your brother Kaique.
— My mother? Kaique? Are you sure?
— Absolutely, sir.
Ravel hung up, a chill running down his spine… His mother had died two years ago, his brother was living in the Netherlands.
He opened the door. First, he saw the old woman’s incomplete smile; then the vacant stare of the man with yellow teeth. They took a step forward.
— We’ve found you, Ravel. Now it’s your turn. You will be a propagator.
Those words, that situation, pulled Ravel into other worlds. His vision darkened. The man, with a smile unmoored from reality, raised a mirror and pointed it at Ravel, who, upon looking, simply collapsed…
Dead? Unconscious?
Ravel seemed no longer to breathe.
In the silence of the apartment, only the mirror’s reflection remained—empty, waiting for the next.
Thank you for reading🌼
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