Bramfadal
On a planet closer to Earth than you think, lives a man called Bramfadal.
He lives in a house on the top of a mountain in the middle of a sea under the moonlight of the sun on a planet where there is never daylight. Ever.
The man is currently content with life as it is.
This is about to change.
On the mountain in the middle of a sea under the moonlight of the sun on a planet where there is never daylight, ever, lands a flying dish. The dish is surprisingly circular, and this puzzles Bramfadal somewhat, because he has no idea what a circle is.
Out of the dish comes a mirror image of Bramfadal. The illusion walks towards him with what seems to a perfectly normal gait. Bramfadal himself looks from the dish, to the walking image, to the dish again and back to the image. The moon he was looking admiringly at suddenly seems very insignificant.
It stops in front of him (the mirror image, not the moon), and there is considerable silence.
Bramfadal ponders what to say.
The mirror image seems to be pondering what to say.
Bramfadal scratches his head thoughtfully.
The mirror image scratches its head in a thoughtful manner.
Bramfadal takes a deep breath.
The mirror image seems to be taking a deep breath. There is no sound.
Bramfadal says, "?"
At this, the mirror image answers, "."
"!" says Bramfadal himself, pointing out that that is a horrible thing to say.
"," says the image. Then it smiles, a smile that reflects a lot. It nearly blinds Bramfadal, so he closes his eyes for a while. Perhaps, he thinks, perhaps I've got a sunstroke. When he opens his eyes, the mirror image is still there. Its eyes are looking at him. He looks back. "What's that?" asks Bramfadal himself while pointing at the dish. Anything to avoid that gaze.
"That," says the image, "is a figment of your imagination."
Bramfadal contemplates this. The image looks at him with scorn.
"Oh," he says. The image merely condescends to nodding vaguely.
"And you?" he asks, tension in his voice. He is not sure he wants to know the answer, but it's a question that has got to be asked.
"Me too," it says. Bramfadal isn't the smartest creature in the galaxy, and it takes a while for the implications to hit him with full force.
"Oh."
His mind squiggles uncomfortably in his skull. This gives him a headache.
"So," he says after a while. "I'm talking to myself?"
The image nods gravely. Damn, thinks Bramfadal. Damn, damn, damn.
"Right," he says aloud. "Bye then."
At this the image looks at him with a surprised look. Its mouth opens and closes a few times, searching for words. "What do you mean, bye then?"
"You're me. So I'm loosing it. I don't want that. I don't want to talk to myself. I want you to go away. Leave me alone. I'm happy as it is. I don't need more of myself. So, please go."
The image looks horrified at him. "You don't mean that," it says pleading.
"I do," says Bramfadal. "Go."
Anger flickers across its face. Offended, it turns around, stamps into the dish and takes off. When Bramfadal can't spot the difference between the dish and the stars, he sits quietly down in his chair and looks at the moon again.
Only, now the moon seems to be smiling at him. And it's not a reassuring smile.