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The Mirror |
| Written by Alex Hodson | |
| Sunday, 06 April 2008 | |
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The Mirror bore a smile, like a malicious child, in the setting sun. It looked upon the world with a malevolent eye, an eye that told the total truth. A mirror doesn't lie. Not to you, not to me, not to anyone.
William Granger was taking the country route into the city when he saw it. Sitting strangely in the centre of the road and glinting at him, enticing him with its malevolent beauty. He put his foot down on the brakes far too late. He had swerved and screeched around the corner, just scraping its ornate golden frame.
He wound his window down and poked out his head. His black hair fell down around his eyes, obstructing his view and he quickly brushed it out of the way with annoyance. What he saw was the back of the thing, standing innocently in the middle of the road, about as tall as an average man and oval in shape. It was swinging slightly on its frame in the cool afternoon breeze.
"What the-" said William, but he didn't swear. Something had stopped him at that point. Maybe it was the presence of the beauty in front of him. He clicked the handle on the car door and swung it open. He didn't take his eyes off the Mirror, strange though it was, he found something interesting about it. He stepped out of the car onto the hard road and slammed the door shut behind him. One step, two steps, three steps. The Mirror seemed to be an age away, but he was sure he hadn't driven that far away from it. It was as if the Mirror was angry at him. Angry at him for scratching its glimmering golden frame. He was right next to it now. He could almost hear its rhythmic heartbeat, could almost smell its womanly scent. He moved around to the front of the Mirror, seeing its shiny surface for the second time. He was awed by its beauty, but also terrified. There was something mysterious about the Mirror that he couldn't put his finger on, it seemed to dwell within the glass. He looked at his reflection and saw himself staring back. The figure in the reflection looked slightly pale and utterly perplexed, as if he was seeing himself for the first time in ages. His reflection stayed the same, a solitary figure standing stupidly in the middle of the road, gawping at the living, breathing object in front of him. It was then that William blinked. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. Then the bottom dropped out of his stomach. His reflection had begun to change. Pieces of skin. They were flaking away from his pale face. Carried away by the wind. William touched his face. His breathed a sigh of relief when he felt his skin, slightly rough but still there. This is some sick joke, he thought, some god damn mother ****** is watching in the bushes with a camera, pissing themselves with laughter. William looked around to see no one at all. There was complete silence only broken by the occasional twitter of a bird. He looked back at the Mirror. His reflection looked normal. His skin was as it should be. Rough and unshaven but still there. He breathed a sigh of relief on the glass. Then he noticed, curiously, that no condensation appeared. He breathed again and again. Still there was no fog, no mist, not even a single fleck of saliva upon the smooth surface. He then backed away. Looking at the Mirror from a distance gave him goose bumps, he saw the gentle curves of the golden frame, the smooth, beautiful surface of the glass and the glint of its jewels. The Mirror looked truly beautiful, looked truly stunning, looked truly terrifying. Was he good enough for the Mirror? Was he worthy enough to look deep within its divine reflection? Did the Mirror see him as unworthy? Looking at it he saw something begin to change. His reflection was shifting. His skin was peeling off. Shredding away. Great chunks of it fell off and were whisked away by the wind. He saw his blood bubble and vaporise. The red mist began circling his head in a halo. Going round, round, round. William stood still. He leant in closer to the Mirror. What am I seeing? He thought with absurdity, Is this it, is this my own death? He watched in silence. His veins emerged, twisting and convulsing like writhing snakes, they were squirting red blood everywhere and then they were gone, they simply twisted into dust. Then the real horror began. His organs began to burn. The flames licked at his heart and ate through his lungs. They charred his bones until they black, rose up his throat, bursting out of his eyes. His eyeballs exploded. His mouth breathed fire. Then everything crumbled into dust, leaving a small, smouldering pile of ash on the road. William's bottom lip was quivering. His face was pale, his mouth dry. He had seen it. This was how he was going to die. He moved closer to the Mirror. He felt a strange connection with it. His nose was nearly in contact with the glass. He shook with horror. The Mirror had shown him what he would come to, a pile of crap on the road. The Mirror never lies. William heard the screeching, but it was too late. A car came swerving around the corner. A young lad, no more than twenty was behind the wheel. He saw the man and the Mirror and had only time to gasp. William had only time to blink. The car slammed into him head on. His legs shattered like glass, spraying the windshield with blood. He went spinning over the roof of the car, arms flailing wildly and his teeth bouncing off the metal exterior. With a horrible crunch the body landed on the road, splashing blood onto the curb. Will was now undistinguishable. A pile of crap on the road. The Mirror had told him so. The boy in the car put his foot on the breaks and he swerved to a stop. He was shaking all over. He looked at the windscreen and saw it was smeared all over with red blood. He clicked open the door, placed his foot on the road and stepped out, slamming the door shut behind him. It was easy finding the body, he just had to follow the bits and pieces, like an Easter trail, the prizes were scattered everywhere. The teeth, the skin, the puddles of blood. Then he found the body itself. It was lying face down on the road, its legs twisted in the upwards and his arms spread-eagled on the ground. A halo of blood ran around its bludgeoned forehead. The boy gagged. He turned around and closed his eyes. The images of the body wouldn't leave his mind, that crumpled man, his blood, his teeth, his gormless expression before his life ended...and something else. He remembered seeing something behind him, something that shouldn't of been there, something out of place. Then it came flooding back into his mind, he had seen it, seen it with his living eyes. He remembered, as if in slow motion, the face of the dead man, open-mouthed, surprised, and the thing behind him - the Mirror. He had seen it.. He remembered now. His own reflection, it had been there as clear as daylight, willing him to see it. The image swam before him now. The skeletal face of an old man with burning bright eyes, foaming at the mouth behind the wheel of his car. The boy opened his eyes and they glimmered in the evening sun. He saw his future. His destiny. His death. He turned around and the Mirror was gone. Copyright 2008 Alex Hodson |
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| Last Updated ( Thursday, 10 April 2008 ) |
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