The Shattered Looking Glass Part One: The Scent of Change

I look back on my life and realize that everything I've ever accomplished was a waste of time and effort. In the long run, life ends abruptly and everything is forgotten. If you're lucky enough, some phantom will record everything you've touched or influenced and turn you into a god, but the chances that someone will care enough about you to do so are as slim as winning the lottery with the numbers on the back of those little papers found in fortune cookies. Some people say that the world is too small for people like me, and that we should all be put out of our misery. I must agree. Death would take me to a place of happiness--somewhere I'd never have to face taxes and political stupidity; someplace where laboring for others for cheap pay, forcing me to live a life of poverty on the streets, could never harm me; an eternity of peace, silence, and solitude. Nothing would make me happier than having a gun placed to my head and having my brains splattered on the face of the murderer. I would have the last laugh, and I would win once again in the battle of self-enlightenment.1

I wasn't always this dark and twisted. I was once a cheerful girl, unaware of the evils and corruption in the world that threatened to snuff out my success like a cigarette in a crystal ash tray. I worked at a job my father found for me marketing fragrances in his company. My office position was slightly underneath his, so he considered me his right hand girl and payed me as such. To me, this chunky paycheck was a gift, and I lived the good life with strong support from my parents. I had my own gorgeous condo on the coast thanks to my father's job, and my mother payed my tuition for my entire college education. I lived the life of a princess: pampered and splurging my money each day as if there would always be someone to take care of every problem I encountered. I was so naive.2

It all happened the day that I decided to make a change in my morning routine. For the first time ever, I skipped breakfast to get to work early so I could get my payment for overtime. I needed the extra money to buy a new flat screen and those little television sets to place on the headrests of my Mitsubishi Eclipse Spyder. As usual, I made sure I looked perfect: the stylish bleached blond shag hair ironed flat and combed with sleek gel, black eyeliner with roll on glittery pink eyeshadow, a carefully knit baby blue sweater with khaki flared-leg slacks, and the most comfortable pair of designer sneakers also owned by Christina Aguilera. I looked like the typical girl from those mushy boy band music videos. A final check on my pearly-whites concluded my routine. I grabbed my keys and left for work, ready to face another day of Valiant Vanilla and Passionate Plumeria.3

It wasn't until I reached the highway that my day took a sudden curve. Usually when I reach the redlight I can wait calmly as the other cars at the intersection pass by, but today was an exception. It was the first time that impatience controlled my actions. I didn't see any oncoming traffic, and I decided to run the redlight (as fast as I could, just in case). I pushed the gas pedal flat against the floor and the car jolted fowards and into the intersection. The rush was amazing, but quickly ended when my car suddenly spun into a full 360 and rolled onto its hood. I struggled in an attempt to escape from the vehicle, but I had hit my head on the steering wheel and was quickly losing consiousness. My eyesight was becoming blurry and I could taste blood in the corner of my mouth. I heard a car door slam and footsteps running towards my totaled sportscar, followed by a male voice, and I tried to catch a glimpse of the man without success as I fell into complete darkness.4

I was awakened by the light tinkling of metal and the smell of hospital food. I hesitated to open my eyes, afraid of what I might see, and slowly the image of a white room with sheer drapes seeped in. I quickly glanced around the hospital room and spotted the nurse setting up a small table on my bed with my dinner on it. The room was nicely decorated with small potted plants and a television set in the corner, but the homely feel of the place was quickly forgotten when the hospital's notorious odor penetrated my nostrils. The nurse finished setting up my dinner and took two steps back, smiling.5

"You've got a visitor, dear."6

I sat up and nodded to her to welcome in my guest, and dipped the spork into my green jello as she exited and a man stepped in. He was tall and skinny with beautiful coffee stained skin that accented his gorgeous green eyes. His jet black hair was short and spikey, and there was no doubt in my mind that his style was inspired by the members of Metallica and Nine Inch Nails. He wore a torn black sleeveless shirt that flattered his tattooed arms and bondaged wristbands, and his pants that were held up by a studded leather belt had holes torn in the knees and were frayed where they had been dragged on the ground and stepped on by his combat boots.7

"You know, you're supposed to save the dessert for last," he informed while leaning against the doorway.8

"I like to spoil my dinner," I joked, "and anyway this hospital food isn't any better than the stuff I ate in highschool."9

He chuckled a bit. "Ah the famous soy burgers and meatloaf surprise!"10

"So, who are you exactly?" I wondered.11

"Oh, yeah, I should explain that. You see, I didn't see you coming when you ran the redlight, and I plowed into you with my truck. When I didn't see you come out of your car, I ran to see if you were okay and I called an ambulence as soon as I noticed that you were unconsious and bleeding. Amazingly you're alright, but you had me kind of scared."12

"Wow, it's not everyday that you get into an accident and the stranger tries to help you. Usually they just try to sue."13

"Yeah, well, I'm not that kinda guy. What were you thinking anyway?"14

I blushed a bit and stuffed some chicken fried steak in my mouth. "I don't know," I answered as I rolled the steak around with my tongue and chewed. "I just felt anxious to go."15

"I know what you mean."16

There was an awkward silence followed by the sound of someone coughing in the room next door. I swallowed my food and then sighed. "Thanks," I whispered.17

"Hey, no problem. Oh, and here's my number just incase you need something for insurance reasons. You know how those companies can be sometimes." He handed me a torn slab of paper with the numbers 256-8942 etched in black ink. The name sitting on top of the number seemed to lure me in, and I said it softly to myself. "Trent."18