Uncharmed Circle
Uncharmed Circle By Bill Hart I stood and stared at the image being reflected back at me from the silvered surface. Everything certainly seemed all right. It was, of course, me that I saw reflected there. That made perfect sense. Who else could it possibly be but me standing before the mirror? Mirrors simply didn't lie. Reflections couldn't possibly be anything or anyone other than what or whom they appeared to be. Whenever I stood in front of some mirror, then whatever I saw...