A Lost Reflection

This is a dream that a character in my story, Transient Survivor, has whilst he is comatose. Therefore it doesn’t much sense, but what dream does?

The endless night rolls on, and streetlights glower
Down upon crumpled crisp packets and squashed cans
That lay on the streets,
Toyed with by the silent wind.

I walk silently up the road, looking around me;
Confused at what I see.
It seems so familar, but alien at the same time.
Have I been here before?
There are no cars.
No people.
No bustle.
I was alone with the leering faces of shops,
And restaurants,
Reflecting back the street on the other side…

Wait.

I moved backwards.
One window was reflecting what must have been a body.
A figure.
I looked up at the sign.
It was a Costa coffee. I frowned,
Though I didn’t have a mouth, and
when I frowned, the reflection frowned.

I walked slowly forward,
Afraid at what was waiting for me.
Afraid of what I was.
I walked until I was face to face,
Eye to eye,
With the stranger.

I drank him in.
I looked at his slightly angled eyes,
His somewhat tanned face,
The scars that lay ridged on one
Side of his cheek.
I looked at his messy auburn hair,
The fringe that fell into one eye,
The high cheekbones.
I looked down now at the clothes
That hung on a slim but muscular frame;
A navy jumper with a white skull
Knitted onto the front, and
the sleeves pushed back,
Some denim knee-length shorts,
A collection of string bracelets
And wristbands on his scarred arms.

I found myself raising a hand,
To pull back the jumper to see what shirt
He wore underneath;
But my hand met the glass and he frowned at it.
I backed off, and he blushed.

Where had my hand come from?
I looked down.
I could see no jumper,
no hand,
no figure.

I looked up, and so did the reflection.
Three hoarse words left my mouth.
“Who am I?”

I rose what must have been my hand again.
Long, slender fingers were splayed against the glass
As I placed my palm on the window.
The reflection silently mirroed my glance
At my hand, as I stared at what I thought I
Did not have.

I looked back at what must have been me.
Was that me?
I found more questions tumbling from my lips.
Why am I alone?
What is this place?
What’s my name?
How did I get here?

The words echoed meaninglessly around me.
My reflection stared blankly back at me.
He lowered his hand.
I stood staring dumbly at my lifeline…
My first sight of myself.

What is my name?
How am was I?
Do I have a family…?

My voice cracked.
I can’t remember anyone, I realised.
Looking up at the figure on the glass once more,
I added, sadly, within my thoughts:
Let alone myself.