Posted in writings


The mirror was worse for wear. Aged beyond it’s years with cracks, fractures and streaks of dust. All from carelessness and neglect. All images obscured.

Distorted so badly was the most recent picture, that it caused feelings of absolute loathing. Bile would surely rise into the throats of anyone who laid eyes on it. Small and slight it seemed. All the light was gone. Left in it’s path was darkness.

No energy or sparkle, just a sullen, limp form. No meaning or resolve. The only thing that did remain were ebbs of emotion. None pleasant. Only; disdain, shame, bitterness, spite, loneliness, sadness, worthlessness. On and on it went.

As she stood there, she began to wonder, is the mirror broken or am I?



Canadian with a passion for books and writing.

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