Spoken Mirror: A Short Story
The apartment was quiet. Well almost quiet. The living room held no noise; the same could be said for the kitchen. The dark hallway was where you could hear the slightest tremor of the sound. In the master bedroom the sound became much more clear, and much, much louder. The light that cascaded into the bedroom helped to light the path to the mysterious noise. As the glow from the bathroom grew brighter, the noise grew louder. It was then the sound could be made out and was clearly audible; the sickening sound of gags and choking, mixed with the shame that came with once eaten food pouring into the toilet.
Sarah got off of her knees and weakly pressed the chrome knob on the tank of the toilet in an attempt to destroy the evidence of her feelings of self worth. As the mix of barely digested food swirled down the mouth of what could be considered her second stomach, Sarah turned to face the mirror. After placing her best friend, her toothbrush, down on the marble counter top she began her bulimic cleaning regime.
First a wipe of her face, using toilet paper, mainly so that form of evidence could be destroyed by her septic tank as well. A good washing came next, more for therapeutic ideas than anything else. And finally she began her last step, washing off her best friend; she then applied the minty fresh toothpaste and began the vigorous process of brushing her entire mouth.
Spitting out the last bit of foam she gazed up at her reflection in the mirror. For a while she stared at the woman looking back at her. The unfamiliar yet so recognizable face she had become accustomed to seeing after her process, just looked back, making eye contact with her. Sarah looked broke the contact with the woman in the mirror and began to walk out of the bathroom…walk out of her secret.
“Sarah…” the voice said. “Sarah…” it repeated.
It was back. But of course it was back. In being honest with herself she knew the voice had never really left. That same voice was the reason for her nightly ritual in the first place.
“You did it again Sarah,” it chimed in again, “but then again,” it continued in its usual repugnant fashion, “you always do. You always come back to me, and this whole thing don’t you.”
Sarah turned toward the voice resonating in her head. She found the culprit in its usual place. Turning to face her reflection she prepared for the usual battle that always come with her purging nightmares.
“You really are quite pathetic,” her reflection spoke back to her, “you honestly think all this ‘binging’ and ‘purging’ is really going to give you what you want? It’s time for you to face it, you will always be hideous; plain and simple.”
Sarah’s eyes began to tear up, but she didn’t dare wipe the tears away. This was what the specter looking back at her from the mirror wanted. She ALWAYS gave it what it wanted. Sarah let the tears fall down her cheeks and land on her clothing.
“So now with the tears again?” her reflection taunted, “You know that’s how you will always stay, don’t you? Pathetic. Pathetic and fat. Just look at the way your flab is hanging over your pants. What have you gained from even eating at all? Well except that donut you’re smuggling in your shirt.”
Sarah reached down and lifted up the rim of her shirt to examine what her reflection was commenting on. After reviewing her skin she quickly pulled down her top, and wrapped her arms around her waist. Who was she kidding? Hiding her fat with her huge arms as well? What good would that do? She made eye contact with the green eyes staring back her, as they morphed into a pair of bright and shining blue. This time around the one staring back at her was no longer her own reflection, but that of a child hood acquaintance. One of the girls that tortured her, in her small town middle school, stood inside her mirror, that same cocky sneer that she always held while she taunted her stared back at her. She had the same facial expression she always held while hordes of children “moo’d” at her like farm yard cows as Sarah ran down the hallways. Trying to avoid the daily abuse was always unlikely, and never occurred.
The reflection began to change again as the memories of and sounds of laugher and taunting filled Sarah’s head. Now before her stood the groups of children, laughing and teasing.
“No…” Sarah managed to squeak out between sobs, “No…go away…”
The reflection transformed multiple times as she began to cry. All the memories began coming back to her, the same memories that caused this entire ordeal.
“No!” Sarah began to shriek. “Stop! Just Stop!”
She continued to scream at the reflections as they changed. Her heart stopped when she caught a glimpse of the image in front of her. By far the person staring back at her was the worst she ever had to endure. There in front of her stood herself; A much, much younger version of herself, but an image of herself nonetheless. She knew the likeness too well. There she was, an overweight six grader, her hair always messy and cut short like her parents thought was “adorable,” and her skin taking horribly to the puberty hormones running through her body. And there were her same green eyes staring back at her through unkempt eyebrows. Her eyes showed her fear, her terror, even worse her naïve spirit that showed her shock as the other kids chased her down the halls of her hell. The poor girl stared back at her with such an innocent form of terror it made her sick.
The specter began to laugh like a banshee, as her sobs grew louder.
“NO!” Sarah screamed. She was not doing this again. It was over. No more would she go through this sick and twisted form of treatment. Pick up the porcelain vase behind her she screamed and then hurled the damned thing at the mirror with all of her might, all of her anger, all of her years of unyielding disease. The bathroom became silent. It was filled with complete quiet except for the sound of her breathing.
Glass and porcelain was shattered over the counter top while Sarah’s breathing became ragged. In the blast of broken reflections she managed numerous cuts, but she really could care less. She breathed hard in and out, filling up her lungs with oxygen, and breathing out her rage. Sarah looked at the shattered reflection ahead of her as her heart rate decreased back down to normal. She was through with this.
She could now see her reflection as what it was, broken and in need of serious repair, but eventually the pieces could be put back together to form something new, something better.
B.D.D. was a real bitch…but she was determined to slit this bitch’s throat.
Sarah got off of her knees and weakly pressed the chrome knob on the tank of the toilet in an attempt to destroy the evidence of her feelings of self worth. As the mix of barely digested food swirled down the mouth of what could be considered her second stomach, Sarah turned to face the mirror. After placing her best friend, her toothbrush, down on the marble counter top she began her bulimic cleaning regime.
First a wipe of her face, using toilet paper, mainly so that form of evidence could be destroyed by her septic tank as well. A good washing came next, more for therapeutic ideas than anything else. And finally she began her last step, washing off her best friend; she then applied the minty fresh toothpaste and began the vigorous process of brushing her entire mouth.
Spitting out the last bit of foam she gazed up at her reflection in the mirror. For a while she stared at the woman looking back at her. The unfamiliar yet so recognizable face she had become accustomed to seeing after her process, just looked back, making eye contact with her. Sarah looked broke the contact with the woman in the mirror and began to walk out of the bathroom…walk out of her secret.
“Sarah…” the voice said. “Sarah…” it repeated.
It was back. But of course it was back. In being honest with herself she knew the voice had never really left. That same voice was the reason for her nightly ritual in the first place.
“You did it again Sarah,” it chimed in again, “but then again,” it continued in its usual repugnant fashion, “you always do. You always come back to me, and this whole thing don’t you.”
Sarah turned toward the voice resonating in her head. She found the culprit in its usual place. Turning to face her reflection she prepared for the usual battle that always come with her purging nightmares.
“You really are quite pathetic,” her reflection spoke back to her, “you honestly think all this ‘binging’ and ‘purging’ is really going to give you what you want? It’s time for you to face it, you will always be hideous; plain and simple.”
Sarah’s eyes began to tear up, but she didn’t dare wipe the tears away. This was what the specter looking back at her from the mirror wanted. She ALWAYS gave it what it wanted. Sarah let the tears fall down her cheeks and land on her clothing.
“So now with the tears again?” her reflection taunted, “You know that’s how you will always stay, don’t you? Pathetic. Pathetic and fat. Just look at the way your flab is hanging over your pants. What have you gained from even eating at all? Well except that donut you’re smuggling in your shirt.”
Sarah reached down and lifted up the rim of her shirt to examine what her reflection was commenting on. After reviewing her skin she quickly pulled down her top, and wrapped her arms around her waist. Who was she kidding? Hiding her fat with her huge arms as well? What good would that do? She made eye contact with the green eyes staring back her, as they morphed into a pair of bright and shining blue. This time around the one staring back at her was no longer her own reflection, but that of a child hood acquaintance. One of the girls that tortured her, in her small town middle school, stood inside her mirror, that same cocky sneer that she always held while she taunted her stared back at her. She had the same facial expression she always held while hordes of children “moo’d” at her like farm yard cows as Sarah ran down the hallways. Trying to avoid the daily abuse was always unlikely, and never occurred.
The reflection began to change again as the memories of and sounds of laugher and taunting filled Sarah’s head. Now before her stood the groups of children, laughing and teasing.
“No…” Sarah managed to squeak out between sobs, “No…go away…”
The reflection transformed multiple times as she began to cry. All the memories began coming back to her, the same memories that caused this entire ordeal.
“No!” Sarah began to shriek. “Stop! Just Stop!”
She continued to scream at the reflections as they changed. Her heart stopped when she caught a glimpse of the image in front of her. By far the person staring back at her was the worst she ever had to endure. There in front of her stood herself; A much, much younger version of herself, but an image of herself nonetheless. She knew the likeness too well. There she was, an overweight six grader, her hair always messy and cut short like her parents thought was “adorable,” and her skin taking horribly to the puberty hormones running through her body. And there were her same green eyes staring back at her through unkempt eyebrows. Her eyes showed her fear, her terror, even worse her naïve spirit that showed her shock as the other kids chased her down the halls of her hell. The poor girl stared back at her with such an innocent form of terror it made her sick.
The specter began to laugh like a banshee, as her sobs grew louder.
“NO!” Sarah screamed. She was not doing this again. It was over. No more would she go through this sick and twisted form of treatment. Pick up the porcelain vase behind her she screamed and then hurled the damned thing at the mirror with all of her might, all of her anger, all of her years of unyielding disease. The bathroom became silent. It was filled with complete quiet except for the sound of her breathing.
Glass and porcelain was shattered over the counter top while Sarah’s breathing became ragged. In the blast of broken reflections she managed numerous cuts, but she really could care less. She breathed hard in and out, filling up her lungs with oxygen, and breathing out her rage. Sarah looked at the shattered reflection ahead of her as her heart rate decreased back down to normal. She was through with this.
She could now see her reflection as what it was, broken and in need of serious repair, but eventually the pieces could be put back together to form something new, something better.
B.D.D. was a real bitch…but she was determined to slit this bitch’s throat.