(This may be too late, but I kept working on it–a combo of the first and second prompt–or the first prompt inspired by the idea of doing the second in the future.)

The Watcher

When I think of movies from my youth, they have the same plot: there’s a girl in distress trying to solve the mystery surrounding a second, more-distressed girl whose fate teeters on the ability of the first girl not to completely fall apart, and I wonder are there so many distressed-girl-movies or due to my own girlish loneliness and distress, were those the only movies I remembered because I liked seeing myself reflected like that, three-souls-deep, with two perfectly parallel planes generating infinite reflections, infinite distress and infinite girls (for example, in Watcher in the Woods, a film released a month after I was born, an American girl moves with her family to a wooded estate on the English countryside where a scary Betty Davis stands at the window, glowering, and the first time I tried to watch it, Mom had to turn it off because I cried when the antique mirror cracks for no reason and cuts the girl’s finger, but on my second attempt, I made it to the funhouse mirrors where the girl gets lost and trapped by her own reflection until it becomes the reflection of the other, worse-off girl, who disappeared (it seems in the woods, but she may have been sucked into something supernatural (or in the alternate ending something science fictional, and this must not have tested well because you can find it on the DVD extras but not the Disney original—yes, this terrifying narrative is a Disney movie, which is why my mom rented the video)), and this missing girl is Betty Davis’s daughter, which is why Betty Davis keeps glowering; she’s glowered for forty-some years because her daughter disappeared on the night of an eclipse after a sketchy secret society ceremony with another girl and two dudes who act guilty, such that you think they may have interfered with the missing girl and dumped her body in the woods (but actually she was interfered with by something supernatural (or science fictional with undulating tendrils from another planet if you select that DVD ending) and since the girl disappeared decades ago, her reflection shows a white, period dress—a bit like an old nurse’s uniform—and a white blindfold (a relic of the sketchy group-initiation ceremony in the ruined chapel) that looks more like a bandage as if she’s bleeding, and this girl’s scared and reaching, mouth gaping, and alone except for the twelve, 24, 48, and infinitely more of her, which is what the American girl sees in the mirror, making the American girl even more destressed and determined to risk her life to find the missing girl—I watched this movie dozens of times—and maybe this is why it feels like I’m missing something—a purpose or a girl—why I’m searching for the girl who mirrors me infinitely, and does that mean I’m stuck in a mirror phase or a horror movie or something science fictional, like another girl on twin planet, or there was a second egg like another planet in my mother’s womb—my vanished twin—that my egg absorbed because I was in distress and greedy, and I never expected to be lonely?)?

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