Mimicry. That was the name of the game. Frank Knollun put bread on his table by pretending to be someone else for the amusement of the masses. At the drop of a hat, he could become anyone he chose. Be it a celebrity, relative, government official or ordinary citizen; none were safe from him. He could be anyone he wanted.
But he often privately wondered where the real Frank had gone to. After so many years of being other people, he seemed to have forgotten who he was.
The face in the mirror hadn't changed - not in any dramatic, unexpected way that is. Every time he looked, there were more wrinkles and less hair. Almost as if there was some kind of migration/transformation going on. But the same brown eyes looked back at him, asking the same question as always.
Who am I really?
His wife, Laura, always told him he was imagining things. But how would she know? What if all she saw was another persona - the loving husband.
More than once, Frank had thought about giving it up. That always lead to him not knowing if that was even possible anymore. He was a mirror, not a man.