The Twins

The little girls wore identical golden slip-on shoes, red skirts, and sweaters - one blue, one pink - that only buttoned at the top, flaring out towards the bottom, exposing the bump of their little girl bellies covered by the stretch of matching white shirts. Their stockings were duplicates, but only in style - one pair was white and the other rainbow striped. They both looked to be around nine or ten years old. Their hair was short and blonde, cut in a bob, implying they were children traveling the world, originating in some European country where the bob prevails over little girl heads. Their eyes were cold and didn’t smile. Although they might have been the girls to inspire the concept, their role in the world of imagination is not as elements of a Hollywood horror, like twin girls on tricycles weaving down endless hotel hallways pursued by a deluge of blood or combing one another’s hair in the dark while singing children’s lullabies accompanied by long shrill notes on a violin. These girls are actually only worth noting because of their mother. She is swallowed in the horrific arrogant auras which connect the two little girls in the space between them. Can you imagine your childish ego if it had one more version of you to stare at, to bathe in the sound of, to admire and adore? A description of the mother would deny the circumstances. She is unimportant within their world, invisible in their creepy cuteness and dissolved in the reflection between her two little girls. And for the same reason, their mother is why they’re worth mentioning at all.