There is a woman who comes to my window, once a day, every day, like clockwork. She stands and she stares, pointing fingers at my family and the misappropriation in the placement of our things. I cannot hear the words she shouts or know the anger she must feel, helpless to communicate the error of our ways. When I go out to shoo her, as I've done on tired days, she is gone before I make it to the door. When I act oblivious to all her futile rage, she takes it out on panes of glass 'til brittle bones pound sore.
Today, I think, I'll let her in; offer her a tea, and ask her if she'd like to stay for dinner. I see her at the grocery store, wearing dark sunglasses, and pushing her cart into piles of fruit with wreckless hope. I'll wait, I think.
This afternoon, she does not come. Nor the next, or after. I never see her at the store again. But once a day, every day, like clockwork I imagine myself standing at a curtain made of stone: Obsidian, opaque, and menacing as everything I've wondered at but never ascertained.
My reflection points to me, and I point back.
About the Creator
J
I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil
The Last Signal
I was never supposed to be the last human on Mars. The plan was simple: establish the base, initiate the terraforming protocols, and await the second wave of colonists. But as I stare at the silent red horizon now, it's clear I'm the only one left. The communications array flickered one last time three days ago, and since then, nothing. No transmissions, no rescue—just the quiet whir of the life support systems that are now my only company.
By Bellamy Nguyen3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (6)
This was well done, reminding me of the times I feel disconnected from myself, and then coming back from it.
Ah. I see what you did there. I wasn't expecting that ending, but well done. Wraps it all up perfectly.
I'm reading this with a sense of having looked social mores in the face and found them impotent, but still feeling their presence from within all the same.
this is so atmospheric and well-executed!! I also love the cover art!
When mirror regards mirror which is the reflection? Do we deduce the truth of self, or experience it directly? Why can't it be both? Well-wrought, friend!
Oooo, I loved that ending! So unexpected!