Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, Mirror 1

There is someone whom you are all familiar with. Everyone out there has come upon her and admired her at least once before. She is the person who, when you look into her eyes, you see yourself. When you stare hard into her face it is your own image reflected back. She is the brilliant, enviable, all seeing and all showing Mirror. There aren’t many out there who go more than a day without gazing into her glassy stare, admiring and scorning themselves in her face. They look into her and never see her, instead all they see is themselves, every imperfection and flaw bluntly and honestly reflected back at them. She has been kissed by painted lips, smeared with dirty hands, and undergone abuse after abuse as she quietly sits there upon your wall with the world reflecting on her face.
What many people do not realize is that, in each of their reflections in each different mirror a soul is painted back at them in the guise of their own images. Look into a mirror, there you will see your own eyes wearing expressions of sorrow, joy, weariness. What you do not realize is that you are not the only one wearing that expression. On the other side of the glass, in quiet servitude, is the soul of Mirror, sharing your joys and sorrows like a chameleon borrowing color from her surroundings. Incapable of painting herself a smile she succumbs to your moods, your feelings, and your soul. It is in this way that the mirror aged, growing tired of these borrowed emotions she becomes dull, bleary, jaded, just like every other soul out in the world.
This is the story of one particular Mirror who witnessed in her sad life many tears being cried in the solitude of night. She was a bedroom mirror, placed upon the vanity dresser of a master bedroom. From where she was mounted she witnessed and endured numerous fights and arguments and shared in the anger and desperation through the reflections she sent back into the world. She joyfully reflected back smiles and grins when the time came, and in the beginning that was a lot, but as time wore on all she ever got to show were the grim expressions and worn eyes of tired souls.
In the beginning, the bedroom belonged to a young couple. They were happy, newly weds just returned from their honeymoon and anxious to start their life together. The Mirror could dimly recall the giggling in the dark, coy whispers and other scenes of love and happiness that were once illuminate on her young glass face. In those days, she was as joyous as they were, as filled with fresh vitalizing life as they. She shone back then, catching every beam of light that came her way and sending it back out with a cheery bon voyage. Months went by in this manner, the Mirror gladly reflecting on the young couple that lived their lives with such zest. During this time the young couple had a child, a baby girl that was absolutely gorgeous. They were quite a happy family.
Then, a shadow passed over the household. Times grew harder as the baby demanded more and more food, clothing, diapers, and everything a baby needs. Money became sparse and the couple held arguments about how to spend, how to budget, who was wasting money and whatnot. Sometimes the baby would lie on their bed and cry as her parents shouted at one another over her voice. The mirror watched all this and reflected back all the tension and anger and built up stress. She felt it as they felt it and mourned over the lost good times.
Years went by in that nature, and the child grew older. Her parents’ marriage continued to strain and soon they weren’t sleeping in the same room. The child came to inherit the room and soon it was her that the mirror watched. There were nights when the shouting of her parents came through the thin walls and the child lay on her bed and cried. The mirror, having no choice, joined her, crying identical tears with an identical face.
As the child grew the mirror watched and reflected, growing with her in a way. She became as depressed as the pale figure she reflected and when the child got involved in drugs and alcohol the smoke clouded and dulled the mirror too. When the child began cutting herself, the blood reflecting off the mirror glinted back so realistically that it was as if the mirror bled too. This poor mirror was helpless as her emotions gradually became worse and worse, and her glass was beginning to feel it. The mirror grew dull, so that everything reflected in it had a faint shadow over it as though the lighting were slightly off. As Mirror’s soul became more and more warped, so did the glass.
More years passed and the child grew up into a woman and left the house. It had become quiet in the last few years after the mother of the family left. In the empty bedroom the mirror watched each day go by, noting the dust clouding on every surface. She watched, as cobwebs appeared everywhere, now that no one lived in the room no one bothered to care for it. Like before, her soul imitated the world around her. As the furniture of the bedroom fell into a state of disarray so did she. It took a few more years of quiet reflection upon her life before the inevitable finally happened to her warped glass.
One day, while no one was watching or, even around to watch, the glass cracked. At first, it was a tiny, barely noticeable flaw in the very center of the mirror, but then it quickly spread into spider web veins that covered the entire surface. Mirror, glad to finally be able to do something that was not from the world around her, eagerly pushed her way outwards until finally, with a tremendous and incredible crash the mirror collapsed, glass shards spewing in every direction. Once again the glass sparkled and glowed as they flew through the air and landed on every surface, sticking to bits of furniture and getting caught in the cracks in the floorboard. With a look of alarm the old man who had once been a part of the young couple came running to the room. Looking in he saw the shattered glass everywhere and wore a bewildered expression that was only partially reflected in the shards of glass. He stared and stared, as though contemplating what could have happened, and then, shaking his head he muttered “Memento mori. All things must come to an end, even, I guess, an old mirror” as he walked out, shutting the door permanently behind him. Unbeknownst to him, and even to the mirror, on the other side of the country the body of a young woman was found, dead from a heart attack. 2

The end.
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