Mirror Image

As I walked down the highway with my thumb raised, yet another car passed me by. This time, I raised a different finger at the driver, but she didn't seem to see me. Which, granted, was probably a good thing--I'd been living on the streets for too long not to know that psychos were everywhere.

Speaking of which. I stared at the dark blue pickup parked a few miles ahead of where I stood. The driver got out and looked around, and I dodged behind a bush on the edge of the road. As I watched, he dragged a long, thin... something out of the back of his truck. He threw his blanket-wrapped package into the ditch, got into his car, and sped off.

I ran over to the bundle, a thrill of foreboding running through my veins. As I reached it, I swore. It was a body. I pulled the blanket back from where the face seemed like it should be, and gasped.

The woman was a mirror image of me. As I brought my left hand up to my face, so did she--and her eyes opened.

"Hello?" we said at the same time, and blinked in shock.

What on earth was going on?