2 min read
300 words

I always thought the worst part of working night shifts at the hospital was the loneliness…
until the staff bathroom mirrors started fogging up with words scribbled from the inside.
At first, it was harmless.
My name. Random numbers. The word “closer.”
I blamed exhaustion. Sleep deprivation. A prank.
But then the messages changed.
They started referencing things only I knew — my childhood nickname, my mother’s old address, even the color of the dress I wore to prom.
No one else could see it. Every time I tried to show a co-worker, the writing vanished like it was hiding.
Tonight it got worse.
Every reflective surface in the hospital began to fog up — bathroom mirrors, windows, even the stainless steel elevator doors.
All showing the same message:
IT ENDS AT MIDNIGHT.
And with every glance… the numbers ticked down.
I locked myself in a supply closet, away from anything that could reflect my face.
But the countdown kept echoing in my head, matching the rhythm of the hospital clock.
That’s when I realized the truth.
The thing trapped in the mirrors wasn’t an intruder.
It was me… or at least the part of me I’ve spent my whole life trying to hide.
Now the final minute is here.
The walls shimmer with condensation.
And my reflection grins back at me from the steel doors like it’s been waiting for this moment.
Midnight strikes…
…and I finally understand:
You can’t outrun what’s inside you.
Not when it’s been waiting so long to get out.
🪞 Welcome to Tales From The Black Screen, where even reflections hold grudges.
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