Mirror Mirror

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. The eyes were the same, but the face was distorted. I looked at it and for some reason thought of the line;

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all.”

Certainly not the fairest.

Why was the Mirror doing this?

I know I do not look like that. I spent a lot of time and energy to look good. I am not this twisted being, with scowling brows, lopsided grin, sunken cheeks. I am beautiful.

On the outside.

As a child everyone loved me. I was blonde, blue eyed, the perfect proportions required of the ideal child. I was quiet, but had talent. I would sing on cue; I would smile on cue. I could dance in a way that would make Shirley Temple want to sit down and watch.

As I grew, I never went through an ‘awkward stage’, as far as the outside went. I remained beautiful. My smile was no longer on cue, it was a permanent fixture.

I had learnt to keep the smile in place after my uncle abused me. No one wanted to hear, they just wanted me to stay pretty and keep smiling. So, I did.

When I was eighteen my uncle died. He was trying to fix his motorbike, but something caused it to explode into flames, causing him to burn to death. I kept smiling. I know this as I caught my expression each time I walked past the mirror.

I went to college. I had good grades, and good looks, so I went to a good college. I was captivated by the experience. People were regarded in terms of their minds. They did not have to sing on cue. I went to all of my lectures, devouring every word that was said, every emotion that was in the room.

There was one lecturer that was my God. His voice was reassuring, I know he smiled at me. His words spoke to me in a way I had never experienced before. He would raise his voice to get attention, then drop it to add a dramatic effect. Every student was captivated. In the darkened theatre, he was our spotlight.

I went to visit him in his office. I had asked to visit him late in the day, and he said he would be working through the night, so I went in the early evening. The corridors leading to his office were dark, the sensor lights only came on as I approached, leaving a light just in front but darkness behind and further ahead.

I knocked softly and stood back from the door. He answered and urged me to come in. The office was a mix of organised clutter and unorganised disaster. In a prominent place was a large trophy for teaching. He offered me a seat, which I took after clearing the paperwork from it. He started to tell me that he knew why I had come.

How? At that moment I was not sure why I had come.

He said he realised that I was not coping with the class and that my grades were below my usual average. He told me how he could help. He leaned back as he explained how.

Flash

Uncle

Flash

Danger

Flash

I walked unsteadily back down the corridor. The light did not seem to come fast enough to get rid of the dark. I had wiped the blood off my hands, and the trophy, after I had smashed his face with it. I could smell the smoke from the fire I had lit.

I passed the course. Everyone passed the course. The college felt that we had all suffered a trauma with the sudden and violent death of our much-loved lecturer so they gave us all a passing grade.

The calming glow that had surrounded the college seemed to fade after that. The soft lights of people’s minds had shadows. They would speak into the light but then recess back into the dark. Their words footsteps down a corridor.

I adjusted my hair as I looked in the mirror. It was my final year in college, and I was going to a recruitment evening. There was a warp in the mirror, just near the bottom, it made it look like a smoky swirl was starting to rise. The warp was getting bigger. I thought about whether I should replace it, but it had been with me since childhood. My Uncle gave it to me.

I entered the room which was decorated with company banners in various locations. I walked from one booth to the next like a discerning customer in an elite boutique. My eyes glazed over as one boring person after another tried to convince me their organisation was best. I glanced around, my gaze fell on a young man, not much older than myself.

His name was Chris. He was working for a large media group. He was animated as he told me how the group was supportive of talent. After his prepared speech he fell into silence then asked if I had any questions. His eyes like a seal pup, dark but full of innocence.

What are you doing after this?

Umm that’s not the kind of question I meant.

I waited outside until he finished packing up. He smiled as he saw me. I stepped out of the shadow and took his arm. We walked towards his place. He talked about his work, and how competitive the industry was.

Would you like to come in?

He opened the door and turned on the lights, as I followed behind him. He said the carpet was just like his parents. I asked him how long since he had been home. He said too long, as he undid his tie.

Your hair smells nice.

Flash

Uncle

Flash

Not danger! Fight it! Not danger!

He put his arm around me gently, I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to hold him, to feel love. To feel safe.

Then he put his hands on my hips.

Flash

The newspapers called it a tragic accident and warned people about the danger of gas ovens and candles. I like candles. They are romantic.

The warp in the mirror was growing. It was now coming from the top as well. This one was like a reflective dagger going into my forehead. It made me look like I was frowning. But that was not true. I always smile.

Years go by. I meet my husband at work. He liked my smile. I thought he was attractive. He was ugly. His perversions poisoned any charm that his manners conveyed. His face was clear, his smile welcoming. But he was ugly.

I wanted to marry him because he did not touch me. He seemed to understand me. The mirror liked him.

The first time he showed his reflection was two months after we married. I had gotten a bird for company. It had deep colours displaying a sense of the jungle, the exotic. I taught it to say hello.

He smashed its head with a hammer, then told me to save the feathers. I plucked the feathers from my friend and put them in a vase as a colourful display. He wanted to show me that he had control. That was why he wanted to marry me.

That was a wrong move.

I stopped eating. He would taunt me that food was poisoned. So, I stopped eating. This made him angry, so I had to start eating again, each mouthful tasting putrid as my tastebuds explored the morsel. I made sure I did not upset him. Whenever he spoke, I sat to listen, ready to act upon his wishes. Like a dog panting for attention from its owner. Waiting.

Waiting for the right time.

He came home. Drunk. Forgot that he doesn’t touch me.

Flash

His hands on my hips

Flash

Struggling to get away

Flash

He’s too strong. He’s an adult.

Flash

Uncle

The room in darkness. The heavy lamp, the only source of light, on the floor next to his head. I walk to the mirror. There is a light at the end of the corridor where it hangs. I walk through the darkness towards the light.

My Uncle is dead.

No.

My husband is dead.

The mirror shows a reflection that isn’t my own. The eyes are the same, but the face is distorted. This isn’t me.

The sharp flash has turned into roaring in my ears, so the glass makes no noise as I shatter the mirror with my fist. The shards scattering my uncle onto the floor.