The Reflection in the Mirror

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. I was staring at myself, or so I thought, but the woman in the mirror had long, black hair that fell in tangled strands around her pale face. The deep scarring around her forehead and mouth looked fresh. Her eyes were hollow and sunken, her lips twisted into a sinister scowl that sent shivers down my spine.

I had inherited the mirror from my grandmother who had informed me that it was cursed. She warned me never to look into it... but I was curious. I never believed in superstitions and quickly learned that was my first mistake.

As soon as I saw the woman in the mirror, I knew something was wrong. But it wasn't until later that I realized just how dire things were.

At first, the mirror seemed harmless enough. I would catch glimpses of the woman in the reflection but I could ignore her. It wasn't until I started seeing strange things in the mirror that I knew I was in trouble.

The first time it happened, I was brushing my teeth. I looked up into the mirror and saw a figure standing behind me, looming over my shoulder. When I turned around, there was nothing there. But when I looked back into the mirror, the figure was still there, staring at me with indignant eyes.

Things only got worse from there. I started seeing strange, twisted versions of my own reality in the mirror. Places I had been to before yet they were different somehow. Darker, more sinister. And in every reflection, the woman was there, watching me.

I couldn't escape the mirror's gaze. It was like it was following me everywhere I went. I tried to throw it away but it always found its way back to me. I tried covering it up to no avail. It felt as though it had a life of its own. My heart sank deeper and deeper every time I would see that figure glaring behind me.

I became obsessed with the mirror, spending hours staring into its depths, trying to unravel its secrets. That's when I started to notice the bleeding.

It was subtle at first, just a trickle of blood that I could wipe away with a tissue. But it kept happening, and soon I couldn't keep up. The blood was seeping out of the mirror, staining my hands and clothes.

I was terrified, but I couldn't stop looking. I was drawn to the mirror like a moth to a flame. And then one day, I finally recognized who the figure was.

It was my mother.

She was standing behind me, glaring at me with a mix of sadness and anger in her eyes. I had never realized it was her in the mirror before. And then I remembered the argument we had the night before she died.

The one where I built up the courage to reveal to her a key aspect of myself. The aspect that is still considered taboo today even though it affects no one but myself and my future partner. When I told her, I had never witnessed that amount of pure rage emanating from her eyes. She had a better reaction to me admitting I stole our rent money to pay for an overpriced concert ticket of a band I liked one song from.

She said nothing and marched over to the front door, slamming it on her way out. It wasn't until the next morning when an exhausted looking police officer knocked on my door that I learned why she had never come home that night:

"I'm very sorry, Miss, but your mother was in an accident last night. She didn't make it. Her body has been sent to the STB Medical Center."

I was consumed with guilt. It has eaten away at me now for 7 years. When I ever entertained the idea of dating, the image of my mother's disappointed eyes were burned into my memory. There was no way I would allow myself to be happy when it was my actions that caused her death. If I had never told her, she would still be alive. If I just let her live in ignorance and shielded that part of me, I'd have my mom with me.

But now, she was in the mirror. I didn't know what to do.

The bleeding had gotten worse and the mirror was starting to crack. I knew this was the end. There was no way out. Every regret I ever had, every mistake I ever made washed over me and I needed to cleanse myself before I left this world. I closed my eyes and accepted the only thing I knew I needed to do in order to peacefully drift unto the other side: I forgave myself.

I forgave myself for being who I am, for causing my mother pain. I forgave myself for looking into the mirror, for being so foolish. And as I forgave myself, the bleeding stopped. I opened my eyes and as the mirror stood tall, the woman in the reflection disappeared.

It was over. The mirror remained and I was left with nothing but the memories of what had happened.

I gazed at the mirror I once felt terrorized by and smiled at the beautiful human looking back at me.

I knew I would be okay.

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