Dark Mirror

Reads: 968  | Likes: 8  | Shelves: 3  | Comments: 89

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: House Of Ten Thousand Exotic Rooms

Chapter 22 (v.1) - Downcast Pride

Submitted: February 11, 2019

Reads: 15

Comments: 2

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 11, 2019



22. Downcast Pride

How pitiful,” the voice says, without even a hint of compassion.

And it is. What I am seeing in the mirror is a travesty of a romance; there is no love, not even affection. The only thing I can see is a mutual need of someone to be there to feed off of, even at the expense of being eaten myself.

I’m disgusted, embarrassed that someone else is witness to this.....sickness. This rot! Tears leak from my eyes, silently, for I am not sobbing.

Shall I change the image? Yes, I think that would be best.”

I am under no illusion that he is doing this for my benefit. No doubt the next image will be equally distressing, and as the mirror goes grey, begins to reveal another ‘reflection’, I know that in that feeling I was right.

Again, it is me but not me. The resemblance is there, definitely, but there is something almost other-worldly about her too. She has tears falling from her eyes, or she has had for on her cheeks are dried blood teardrops.

Without consciously thinking about it, I lift my hand to my face, place my fingertip in a tear and it comes away red. I don’t know what to do, but I make a conscious effort not to let any more tears fall.

Her expression is almost stern. She, too, must be controlling herself only with the expending of a great deal of effort. Her face is motionless, giving nothing away of her true feelings.

Around her neck she wears a collar, gold in color, but this is no piece of jewellery. There are roots of some sort spreading out from the bottom of it to disappear into her skin. How can she bear it? Again, without a real conscious thought, I reach up towards my neck, giving a sigh of relief when there is no collar to be found. Behind her there is nothing but a sky of concrete grey color.

Adaptation can be a great tool to survival, can it not.” How can he keep up that amused tone of voice in the face of such suffering – my suffering, well, almost. I can’t distance myself from it, cannot deny the pain that it is causing.

Adaptation.....this is a mockery of the word, is it not. She is not adapting to anything, but is bowing down on bended knees in a stance of complete and utter surrender. It would be tragic if it were not so pathetic.”

I don’t want to listen to his words, reach up and put my hands over my ears, conscious as I do so that the tears, whether of blood or not, are flowing again.

I wonder, is it laziness that stops her from fighting back, standing strong? Or is she too scared, too full of self-disgust?”

Even with my hands pressed tightly against my ears his voice echoes inside my head. I cannot escape from it. “Stop it.....please, stop it,” I beg. A big mistake on my part for now he can feed on my emotions once more.

For a moment I let the idea form that maybe he’ll be like one of those leeches and greedily feed so much that he will quite simply burst. I have a feeling he could suck me dry of all feelings and still survive quite easily though.

Can he not feel some compassion? Surely he can see that her self-esteem – my self-esteem – is at rock bottom. What does she need though? Not sympathy, for that would break her down completely. Understanding, perhaps.

It’s a delusion, you know, when one thinks of sacrificing their pride. It cannot be done, not without sacrificing dignity too.”

It’s like he’s talking in a foreign language. Pride! Dignity! These words mean nothing at all to me. I look at the sky, just so I do not have to look at the person any longer. Grey as Fall, as Winter. There is not even one tiny glimpse of blue and not a sign of the sun shining up there in that downcast sky.

© Copyright 2019 hullabaloo22. All rights reserved.


Add Your Comments: