Only the mechanic humming of the fan pierced through this starry night. My only companion amidst the fear that is besieging my consciousness. I tried to focus on forcing my eyes to close and drift on to slumber but, as if wanting to torment me, it continued to scan through my dark room in search of materializing my thoughts. I took record of the windos beside me showing the grim grove of acasias blanketed by midnight mist, I imagine a dark humane figure at its entrance smiling at me– I closed my eyes. My gaze turned to the ceiling and the shadow painted on it started to morph into a feminine figure as it obeyed my stubborn imagination I pulled my pillow and covered my eyes. But ofcourse, your being will always betray you– I slowly peeked again and was face to face with the lump below my blanket, I quickly kicked off the blanket and jump out of bed in fear of having a ghoul in it. I saw the door of the bathroom ajar and my thoughts intensifies.
The devil slithering : Satan flying
Murderous hands ripping the wooden floor, my skin rubbed by the fiery cold of a sharp metal; Alice was beheaded.
I closed my eyes shut, seeing blots of light as I forced to maintain it closed but , yet again, Lancelot betrayed Arthur — pluck!
There, at the center of the room, facing the bed was horror. I saw it, walking closely, its every step synchrobized with mine. I shook my head and beads of sweat started to slide down my forhead.
I took my pillow: it took its sheild
I quickly took my bat lying below my bed: it dashed below its bed and took its sword
What horror it is, that throughout one’s life the only face you do not see is that of yourself’s.
And that out there, someone holds that very face– one’s face.
I did’nt hesitate and I shatteted the mirror infront of me, shards of broken glass soaring off everywhere like shooting stars tearing through the sky. I let go of my bat and fell on my knees and panted.
I looked at myself on the glass, those cursed things forever to show reality but never owning it for itself.
Brunette. Black eyes. Mole on the left cheek. Enough.
I pushed it away and stood up.
I knew who I am. Of course one knows who he is. Clearly but confused. You could know yourself but not see yourself.
“Turn around” I heard myself whisphering.
I felt the hairs on my skin raise.
I turned around to see the face of my murderer.
Brunette. Black eyes. Mole on the left cheek.
He pushed me away and bent down.
He knew who I was: him.
I watched as the mirror won. Forever taking over. Everyone forever clearly confused.
As death started to eat me up, I saw the eyes of those who fell victim on never knowing myself.
Blue eyes. Red eyes. Black eyes– smack!
I beheaded me.
I pushed him down the bed and picked up a broken glass. There I was: brunette, black eyes, mole on the left cheek.
We’re all around you.
Turn around, reader.