Mirrored Visions

Trapped in a room made of mirrors, the woman stares at unfamiliar figures.

Black, ink-blotted silhouettes.

Long, sleek tendrils grip at chunks of hair and pull.

Some grab chests, pushing the fleshy mounds until they are no more.

Haunting screams of varying pitches and timbres echo throughout the otherwise empty room.

The woman winces and grips her hair.

Tugging, and tugging, and tugging.

The voices grow louder.

Some moan and some groan.

The woman clutches her chest.

Her hands grip her shirt and pull at the tight fabric.

Pulling, and pulling, and pulling.

The voices do not cease.

Silhouettes reach down and grasp thighs.

Fingers pinch and pull on the skin, desperate to rip it off.

The woman collapses.

Her sob rips through the air.

At last, the room falls silent.

Hands grab the woman’s arms.

Two on one and two on the other.

She’s gently lifted to her feet, and she peeks in the mirror once more.

A man stands to her left.

His eyes and hair resemble her own except the length.

His freckles are just like hers.

A person stands to her right.

Their eyes and hair resemble her own except the length.

Their freckles are just like hers.

Each possesses qualities she desires.

She turns her head, and he follows.

She moves her hand, and they follow.

But they are still her.