Horror
Latent Echoes
“The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own.” As Cain uttered those words to his wife, her annoyance quickly turned to amusement, “Don’t even. I swear you don’t have a serious bone in your body. Everything is a joke to you!” she laughed, striking him playfully.
By Mark Crouchabout a year ago in Fiction
The Big Red's Gang - Part 2
The Big Red's Gang, Part 2 Graphic violence ___________________________ The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. Who was this in the bathroom mirror? Howard, the wimp, would have stared back at me twenty-four hours earlier. As Poppy had said, "a pimply-faced bum." Now, the pimples remained, but Duck's eyes blazed with hope. The muscles in my arms seemed to have grown overnight, and my hair was darker, like Poppy's. The Big Red bandanna, tied around my head, was a banner under which to charge into the future. Yet, there was something missing. The ingrained hope of acceptance was new. But what was missing? Then it dawned on me. My lifelong fears had been driven out by the gang of ghosts in a red 1967 Dodge Challenger that had stood up for me, defended me, and fought for me. Prior to meeting Poppy in the broken rear-view mirror, fear had debilitated my ability to exist beyond running away. He had changed my name from Howard to Duck, and I'm a full member of The Big Red's Gang. We don't do drugs but fight to get them off of our streets. Without fear, I run to any noble fight because I found others to care about.
By J. S. Wadeabout a year ago in Fiction
The Broken Mirror
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. Amber eyes stared deep into my own hazel eyes, burrowing deep into my soul. My hand brushed the broken mirror, enraptured by the sight in front of me. The girl in the mirror was beautiful, elegant and perfect. She was everything I wished I could be.
By Emilie Turnerabout a year ago in Fiction
Amaranthine
“The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own.” How I longed to embrace the woman on the other side of me: Marty Nelson. As it states on my birth certificate, at least, but I am Madeline. That is who I am, heart and soul. I thought the day I lifted my head to the heavens and sang out “she is me” proudly, with my bright red lipstick painted on, would be the happiest of my life. They make it look so magical, so easy on tv. But this personal declaration and embrace of one’s true self is a call to arms. In this country, it has become an act of war on one’s body and person.
By Glory Annaabout a year ago in Fiction
Vanity
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. I left that carcass behind a good bit ago. Yeah, maybe what I’ve been doing isn’t moral. You wouldn’t be so judgmental if you saw the things I’ve seen, if you knew what was chasing me. The only way to stay safe is to keep moving, so that’s what I’ve been doing. I guess this is my confession. And I truly hope it helps.
By Cassidy Barkerabout a year ago in Fiction
Classified. Runner-Up in Broken Mirror Challenge.
Redacted Excerpts From The Classified Journal of Sylvia Martin Final Entry The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. After all I’ve been through, it’s almost a relief. I smashed the glass, sending a thousand versions of Not-Sylvia scattering across the bedroom carpet. I selected a wickedly sharp sliver and hid it in my dressing gown pocket. I know now what I must do… and I welcome it.
By Angel Whelanabout a year ago in Fiction
Damages
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. Thank Christ! Seriously, there were many days when I would wake up in the morning and wonder, why did I get stuck with this ugly mug? I know that life is not fair and all that, but you’d think there’d be at least a little balance. But I woke up that morning, washed my face with too-cold water, and looked up.
By Kendall Defoe about a year ago in Fiction
I'll be Seeing You:
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own, yet I could not forsake the resemblance between the woman’s gaze and the emptiness of my own. She held the shard of glass like a serrated kitchen knife. The woman kept looking over her shoulder.
By Saroyan Colesabout a year ago in Fiction
Wrong Place. Top Story - April 2023.
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. Or did it? Maybe it was a different me–the one that lives in the dark corners of my dreams–the other me that always felt close to the surface, lurking around the edges of reality and waiting.
By Gerald Holmesabout a year ago in Fiction