Reflected

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
A detail of a woman's atrocity in an incurable world

Submitted: January 09, 2017

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Submitted: January 09, 2017

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She stands by the mirror every so often with every day blurring between the lines of her pain and anguish. Every girl has felt it her age. The way that the world can treat you for the indifferences and how the world can bury the troubles of life into a darkness that becomes your own. She felt more of it. So now she buries her eyes in the mirror, wondering why. Why me? Why is it the world hates me? Why doesn’t anyone like me? Why do they say I’m ugly? Why do they say I’m not feminine enough? Why?

The trouble is that the mirror doesn’t talk. It never would. It never could change the reflection and make a better world. It never creates happiness. It simply reflects the world you have casted before you. The face you were programmed with. The emotions you decide to prescribe with the instinct you have. So she never could overcome it. The sink becomes more and more useful.

It’s in the faucet there. The plug in which that prevents the water from going down the drain. It’s a simple thought. To simply keep the water and plunge your head far enough to drown. She knew it was inevitable. Eventually, that instinct would kick in to bring her face back to the mirror and question yet again. Why? Why is it I want to die? Why is it I want to never leave the bathroom again? It would be simple. So so simple. 

She cries. She doesn’t sob. Nor does she choke on the air she cherishes for a little longer than anticipated. No. She lets the tears roll gently down her cheeks. She isn’t ugly. She isn’t. No woman is. No woman ever was. But the more you tell a blind bird that it can’t fly, the more that bird believes it. So the bird stays grounded. She was always a bird, hoping to be free into the very sky before her. Like every bird’s demise, once the wings are clipped, they never come back.

Not completely anyway. She was damaged. She would remain damaged. After all, the mirror doesn’t lie. It only shows you what you have in front of you. In front of her were tears, the kind that continue to trail until they hit the floor. Her kind were not unlike any of the women that have drifted time to time with doubts of optimism and that found security in pessimism. It could only taint the image that created imagination. Her imagination.

She was contemplating. Contemplating very hard. She worked hard enough to do it. Why? Why couldn’t she do it? Why couldn’t she take the life she had? It was there. The flattener for her hair was there. Not that it mattered. The changes to her hair didn’t matter. The changes to her face didn’t matter. The changes to her eyebrows didn’t matter. The makeup didn’t matter. No change could matter. Even if it did, the mirror wouldn’t be so kind. It would stare. It would reflect. It would only show the rights to her wrong. The wrong that couldn’t be undone.

Nothing was wrong. She was beautiful in her own right. Not to the eyes of the privileged, those that had looks that people complimented. Those that had looks lovers could love and buyers could pay for. She had a beauty untouched. The mirror could. It could do only that.

A sound? Yes a sound. A light hum from the electrical cord that buzzed each time the socket could pump more energy. Ah yes. Energy. She didn’t have much of it anymore. Any contact with anyone would drain that energy. Why? Why do you look like that? Why are you dressed like that? Why would you come with us looking like that? Constant questions with no answers. Or replies. It was silent, like the mirror that stared at her. 

She reached for it. Yes, that’s what she did. The cord. It wasn’t log after that her legs made it up atop the sink’s countertop. And not long before the cord dangled around atop the shower curtain’s metal bar. And not long before she kicked herself off. And not long before the small gasps that escaped the bathroom. 

Small. Small enough for her family to hear. And loud enough for her family to scream at the sight. The family was loud. Soft, and then loud as they reached for the house phone. There was a familiar turn to the horror once the officers that arrived took their caps off in silence. They honored the dangling woman. They respected the body, but would they have ever accepted the girl? They never would have.

She thought so.


© Copyright 2017 LeoHarp. All rights reserved.

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