The Other-side						by Matt Johnson


	There is another world that everybody sees almost everyday, but never 
acknowledges.  It is a world of opposites and parallels.  Right is left.  Nothing stays the 
same.  It never changes.

	I look into this world for hours at a time.  Not looking at how similar and different 
the other world is, but why the man on the other side is staring at me.  What makes this 
man so different then everything I am.  He sees me, I know he does, but he acts like I'm 
not here.

	"Who are you?!" I scream, but he doesn't answer, doesn't hear me, or doesn't 
care.  I don't know which.  I don't know what he wants, but he stares at me, mockingly.  
He takes some amusement in my agony.  Why won't he tell me who he is?

	It's quiet.  I'm quiet he's quiet.  There is no sound being made anywhere at all in 
my house or in his.  The tension is annoying.  It's starting to drive me mad.  I begin to 
laugh, just to hear something.  The man on the other-side laughs too.  Only he's laughing 
at me.  He broke me.  I cracked.  It must have been his plan all along.

	I stop laughing; I won't give him the satisfaction.  "You won't beat me!"  I 
scream at him again, "I know what you want, and I won't let you do it!"  He's smiling at 
me.  His head is tilted down and his eyes staring up.  I can't see the whites of his eyes 
anymore, just dark circles and his evil smile.

	He starts laughing at me again.  He knows he's won.  I don't know why, but I 
start laughing too.  Maybe I'm nervous.  Maybe I'm not laughing.  I don't know.  I know 
what this man wants.  He wants me to be like him.  He wants me to go crazy.  I still don't 
know who he is.

	"You're mine.  You know you are.  Stop fighting it.  Join me.  It makes 
everything seem a lot nicer," he tells me.  I can't believe him.  I won't believe him.  But, 
I do believe him.  I know that he's right.  He's never lied to me.  He's never fought with 
me.  He just tried to open my eyes.  He wants me to see things through his eyes.

	I reach out to him.  He reaches to me.  Our hands almost touch when my hand hits 
the glass.  I look at him, despairingly.  He starts to laugh again and, for the first time I 
know, he's won.  He's truly won.  I assumed he would, but I still fought him.  I leave the 
room with the other man and sit down in my favorite chair.  I stare out the window and 
wait to join the other man.  Some birds start singing as I drift off into madness.