The Other Side of the Mirror
Just something I’ve been working on for a while now. This is a short piece of prose that’s based on a poem I wrote 4 years ago, which in turn was based on some personal stuff.
(LiveJournal is being a bitch about LJ cuts so I'm just going to leave this as it is)
“You’re not staring at that mirror again, are you?” “No, mum,” she replied, not really paying the woman any heed. After all, she would never understand. It wasn’t just a mirror, just as it wasn’t her reflection she was staring at, she’d leave stuff like that to the narcissistic bullies at school. It wasn’t staring either, but a form of communication - one where words were unnecessary except for the ones in her head.
It had been almost six months ago when she noticed that the image on the reflective surface mounted on her bedroom wall was different somehow, and she soon realised that the person on the other side had a personality quite disparate from her own. It probably wasn’t normal, for one’s reflection to be sentient, but that never bothered her. Instead, she found herself intrigued by it and had even come to consider the girl a friend, one who truly seemed to understand her. She only existed within that one mirror, though, much to her disappointment. So when she had had a bad day in school, or when her parents were having one of their quarrels, she would retreat to her room, taking refuge in the comforting presence of the other. It was nice, having someone to talk to for a change, even if the other couldn’t reply her verbally.
It had never occurred to her that she would one day have reason to fear her. The change was slight, and gradual, but as the days passed she realised that the other had somehow morphed into the person she used to be. It was as if all her negativity was being reflected by the girl, and their roles had changed. Instead of comforting her, the presence in the mirror was now a reminder of the misery that her life had once been. She found herself spending less time in her room, and even when she was in there she avoided looking in that mirror as much as was possible, hoping that if she ignored it enough, things would revert to the way they used to be.
Weeks passed, but instead of improving, the situation only seemed to deteriorate. She could no longer stand to catch even a glimpse of her “reflection” in the mirror and had resorted to covering it up with posters. Now, she only ever entered her room when absolutely necessary, and in the night, she was unable to sleep easily, constantly haunted as she was by the face in the mirror. Her own, but at the same time a stranger’s.
Eventually, her mother realised that something was amiss and confronted her, but she refused to speak of it. Although the girl in the mirror was no longer the friend she used to be, she still felt a sense of obligation to keep her from the rest of the world. It was as though talking about her to someone else would cause her to disappear, and although her presence in her life was not altogether pleasant, she was unwilling to let that happen. Naturally, her parents were worried, but she guarded her secret and they soon forgot about it in favour of more pressing matters.
And so her life continued in this fashion - avoiding but at the same time protecting her secret on the other side of the mirror…
Disclaimer: Although this is based on something personal, the events are 100% fictional, so no, no need to have me hauled off to a psych ward. Comments are welcome though. (: