Saturday, May 22, 2010

Monster in the Mirror

The moment she awoke, she knew it. The monster had returned. Why now? She looked at the sleeping man beside her—her husband of less than twenty-four hours, with tears saturating her cheeks. Chill out, she told herself. She might be wrong.

She slipped out from his sleepy grasp and tiptoed to the restroom. Unopened soaps and cushy white bath towels greeted her—every detail, pristine and new. More tears. Stop! She took a breath. She shouldn’t start the grief process yet. Or perhaps she could.

She turned toward the mirror, and saw it—the monster. Insidious eyes stared back at her from a puffy, wrinkled face. Her own hair, normally lush and auburn, now stood in spiky, gray disarray. Her skin hung on her body like an antiquated wet suit. Faded, sagging rubber one wishes to yank off.

She fell to the floor in horror, her promise echoing in her head: If it happened again, she’d end it. Pull the trigger and shoot. (T.B.C....)

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