Behind the mirror.

He never saw the man again after that day.
The mirror was still there, but he stopped looking at the reflection.
He learned to live with it—until one day he couldn’t anymore.

So he left for the crossroads.

When he got there, he sat on the ground and waited.
At three in the morning, he lit a cigarette and took a drag.
When he extended his hand, the man took it.

“How’s the wish?” the man asked with a smirk.

“I lost my job and moved back in with my parents,” he replied, lighting another cigarette. “Thinking of selling the car. Leaving somewhere for a while.”

The man exhaled a laugh. “So it’s going great. Good to hear. What brings you back? You want the door?”

“I want to trade,” he said, staring straight ahead. “You’re trapped here too. I’ll trade you the mirror—and everything in it—for your job.”

The man couldn’t contain his laughter. “You want the suit? The tie? The shoes too?”

“Don’t care about the uniform,” he said flatly. “Just want the job.”

The man noticed the seriousness and stopped laughing.
“Why would I want the mirror?”

“Because you can get through,” he said, standing to offer another cigarette before sitting again.

“Why do you want the job?” the man asked.

“Is this an interview?” he said, patting his jacket. “Didn’t bring my cover letter.”

The man lit the new cigarette with the dying one.
“Just curious,” he said. “From wanting everything… to giving it all up. Even eternity. You bored?”

“Call it whatever you want. This is what I want now.”

The man laughed again. “That’s not how this works. I don’t care what you want. I care what I want—and I’m not convinced.”

“I started to understand the mirror,” he said, lighting another cigarette. “It reflects my everything. Stands to reason it would reflect yours too.”

An old truck passed by.
The driver glanced at him sitting on the ground and shook his head, muttering something about crazy people smoking dope.

“And you want to give everything to a crossroads devil,” the man said, watching the truck disappear.
“Take his job instead.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Grass is greener, right? You probably want a family. Kids. Something like that.”

The man laughed.

“Isn’t hell supposed to be sex, drugs, and rock and roll?” he added.

The man went quiet.
“It’s hope.”

Another car passed, music thudding through closed windows.

“Guess it’ll feel like home then,” he said, pulling out another cigarette and extending it.

The man took it—and the lighter.

“So it’s power, then?” the man asked.

“It’s purpose.”

The man laughed again. “And your purpose is to fuck people over?”

He squinted through the smoke.
“Is that what you do?”

The man smirked. “Fair enough. I’m just a humble servant. I make wishes come true.” He bowed.

“Sounds like a pretty sweet gig,” he said, standing and brushing dirt from his pants.

“And you don’t want to know where the door is?” the man asked, gesturing with his cigarette.

“I’ll see it from your side, won’t I?”

The man smiled. “Maybe.”

“So,” he asked, “do we have a deal?”

“We’ll review your résumé,” the man said theatrically. “Contact you for a second interview.”

He turned and walked away.

“Figures,” he muttered, sitting back down. “Can’t trust the devil to set you free.”

The man flicked the cigarette butt at him from a distance.
It bounced off his head and fell to the ground.

“Truth is,” the man said, “I love my job.”

He didn’t move.
He stared into the distance as ash settled on his jacket.

The man sat at the door, his legs hanging over the edge.
Ash and smoke from the cigarette drifted with the wind as he looked down.

Far below the clouds, where the earth began to curve, a green wooden door floated—its diamond-shaped window divided into four squares.

He stood, brushed ash from his jacket, turned to the other side, and stepped off the door.

He free-fell upright. His tie and hair lifted with the wind as he held the cigarette between his lips.

Then he took a step forward—and the fall broke.

He landed on a freshly mowed patch of green grass.

Tickets flew everywhere. All kinds of tickets.
He caught one as it passed, read it, and laughed.

“He would’ve loved this.”

He lit it on fire and kept walking, passing a swirling circle of tickets the wind had gathered and set in motion.

He exhaled smoke and laughed again.

Crossing the street, he entered a stretch of burned-out cars and shattered windows. An angry mob moved as one, chanting, holding torches, bats, and signs.

“Good to see some traditions never die,” he said, gesturing with the cigarette before returning it to his mouth.
“Keep it up, everyone—fuck that dude, fuck that dude.”

He joined the chant briefly, smiling.

As he walked past the flying tickets, he did his own version of Singin’ in the Rain, spinning around light posts, grabbing tickets midair and burning them as he went.

“Fuck,” he said, grinning ear to ear. “He would’ve loved that too.”

He looked back at the mirror and waved.

“Did you see that?” he called. “You would’ve loved that!”

Then he stopped.

“Ah, there it is.”

He pointed to a hotel standing in the middle of the street.
“Let’s put you somewhere.”

He braced himself and began pushing the hotel toward the mirror, forcing it forward inch by inch.

Carefully, when he reached it, he aligned the door with the mirror and pushed.

The door passed through without breaking the glass.

He jumped up, stepped through after it, and looked around on the other side.

“Perfect,” the man said.

The man showed up one day as he was out for a walk.

“What if I give you the door?” the man said.

“All right then. No cigarette today?” he replied.

“Light one up, will you?” the man asked.

“Can’t. I quit. Don’t have any on me,” he said.

The man tensed for a second, anger rising. He caught himself, smoothed his hair.

“All right then. I was just trying to be nice. It’ll be quick,” the man smiled.
“So—the door. Have you found it?”

“The door, the mirror, this side or the other—what’s the difference, man? Fuck, you’re making me want to smoke,” he replied.

The man’s smile widened.

“Can’t stick to that either, can you? See, I’ve been watching you, and I gotta say—even for me—it might’ve been too much,” he said, still smiling.

“Tell you what. I’ll give it to you—but not for free.”

“Fine, dude. Shut the fuck up and have a cigarette.”

He pulled out a fresh pack, slid one out, and offered it.

The man’s eyes lit up as he took it and lit it.

“Ah, much better,” he said. “You’re really done, aren’t you?”

“I said shut up,” he replied.

“Damn. No need to get aggressive,” the man said, exhaling smoke.
“What a shame. It was yours. And the door is yours. Are you really going to let fear win? Don’t you want something else?

What happened to the man in the car who wanted it all? I’ve seen what’s on the other side. Don’t you want it?”

He stopped walking and watched the man keep going until the man noticed he’d stopped.

The man turned. “What?”

“Don’t you have demon shit to do?” he asked, gripping the pack tighter, holding back the urge to smoke.

“Lunch break,” the man said, smiling.

“Where’s the door?” he asked, sitting down on a patch of grass. He lit two cigarettes and passed one over.

“That’s what I’m fucking talking about!” the man said excitedly, crouching beside him.

“The door was always in here,” the man said, tapping his chest with the hand holding the cigarette.

When there was no reaction, he grinned.
“Nah. I’m fucking with you.”

“Right. So—the door,” he insisted.

“Well, what’s in it for me?” the man asked.

“What can I give you? Besides a pack,” he replied.

“See, people think we trade in souls,” the man said, “but we actually trade in reputation. So we dance the dance. We play the game.”

“I still don’t see where I come in,” he said.

The man smiled.

“Reputation is worth far more on Earth than a soul. It trades at the highest levels. Smoke and mirrors.”

He felt the warmth of the cigarette creeping closer to his fingers as the idea settled in.

“Outrage and holiness. The rise of one, the fall of the other. We buy low and sell high,” the man said, taking another drag.

“The puritanical baseline makes it fun. Holy green and monster red, up and down in candles lit by worshipping masses. We study them.”

“Still don’t see where I come in,” he interrupted.

The man smiled wider.

“You, my friend, have been more fun than Bitcoin a few years ago. And I want to repay you—and sell at the highest possible peak.

We’ll marry you to a nice girl. She’s seen the worst and the best of you and accepts you exactly as you are. Way out of your league, by the way—but who isn’t, right?” he chuckled.

“And then you’ll have it all. Everything waiting for you on the other side. The hope of the incels. The story of reinvention. A sad, broken man made new.

They’ll eat it up like ice cream after a breakup.

It’s all theater anyway. All that matters is interpretation—and the loudest voice decides the truth.”

He leaned in slightly.

“So. I’ll give you the door. What do you say?”