A/N: Short fanfic, first time writing one, I hope you like it, and I might be able to write more if I get enough reviews

It was strange. That person in the mirror looked nothing like you. Yet they copied all your movements with silent perfection, even when you move to speak to your roommate through the bathroom door. It was like they were mocking you. You could never look at yourself in the mirror, not when you don't have the piles of clown make up. Even when your roommate pointed it out to you in his usual ranting tone, you always tell him 'It's like there's another motherfucker staring at me its motherfucking creepy.' And your roommate always shakes his head, and gives up on the fight. He'll never win against your logic. So you're standing in front of the mirror again like so many days before, and you clean your face off as you hold one of your handmade "cigarettes" in the other. You slowly start to see yourself become a stranger, and today you're fed up. You're fed up with this person's mockery. They are pretending to be you. You can't be copied; you're made up of "motherfucking miracles" as you often told yourself.

You ended up snuffing out your "cigarette" into the sink before throwing it out into the trash. And then pound your fist into the mirror. You yell at the top of your lungs screaming and cursing. Your roommate comes bursting in the bathroom, and shushes you while bringing you into your room. Once you're calmed down enough he leaves the room. With your good hand you place your face into the palm, as you hear your roommate's footsteps; he enters the room and takes your hand, and cleans it. As he picks out the glass he chaises you on not only breaking the mirror, giving yourself bad luck for seven years, but chopping your hand up like liver. You ignore most of it since you don't feel like talking right now. But the young man does ask one question which catches your attention "WHAT DO YOU HOPE TO GAIN BY PUNCHING YOU OWN DAMN REFLECTION YOU NOOKSUCKER!" You look at your friend, and you seemed astonished that he even suggested that kind of thing. That person in the mirror wasn't a stranger it was you. You look at your hand, and you think to yourself about the copy cat's whose face your destroyed. Of course you know that's not true. You know deep down that the stranger in the mirror is your own reflection, you're just hiding. You can't stand to look at yourself.

When you hand is all fixed up, you take it back. "Karkat…"You then mutter. He turned to look at you. He wanted to scream at you some more, but seeing you broken like that kept his mouth shut. You wanted to tell him everything, you wanted to spill all your feelings out onto the floor, you just wanted to vomit all of these pent up frustrations. But you don't. You keep it buried as you say "….thanks motherfucker."