The soft orange glow of my dimming bathroom light was a comfort to me when I first moved into my new apartment. It rounded out the sharp edges of my mirror and made all the cold, sterile metal look comforting. When it mixed with the steam from my hot showers, the room seemed almost otherworldly.
Little did I know that the other world was just on the other side of my mirror.
One night I was sitting in bed. I had long ago stopped closing my bathroom door. I was alone in my little en suite bedroom, there was no need for privacy. I looked up and instead of coming eye to eye with my own face, as I normally did, I found myself looking at the silhouetted profile of a haunted, hooded woman.
Her face was marked in the gathered steam on my mirror, almost as if I had smudged her into being there myself. But I had not. I knew I hadn't rubbed away the steam from my mirror. In fact, I preferred to look at myself as a blurred reflection. It was more comforting to imagine that perhaps I looked beautiful were it not for the blur than to be confronted with a sharp, vivid reminder that I was not.
At first the woman stayed still, perhaps observing me as I observed her. Then, I felt drawn to her.
She was just a smudge, surely. I must have misremembered. Haunted silhouettes don't live in mirrors or anywhere else I told myself. I would approach and reassure myself of this. No need to ruin my evening over a mirror.
Her singular eye was foggy and I couldn't break my gaze from it. It drew me to her.
I walked closer until I was in front of the mirror, staring into her one foggy eye.
Before I realized it, I could feel part of myself leaving my body. The silhouette drank me in through her small, unmoving lips and yet I didn't object. I just kept staring at her, waiting. The longer I stayed there, motionless, looking at the distorted face, the more of me I lost.
I felt myself clutching the sink underneath my mirror and looked down, almost in shock. I had nearly forgotten there was more of me. I brought my eyes away from the haunted profile and stared at my small, freckled hands. I thought briefly of how I had always liked my freckles and how they dotted my skin. I remembered how my friends used to joke that you could play connect the dots with them. This memory drew a small smile from me.
The pleasant memory evaporated like the leftover steam from my shower and I snapped my eyes back to the mirror.
The woman was gone. Or, at least, her profile had been smeared and no longer resembled a haunted, hooded figure with thirsty lips that waited to drink in more of me. Most of the mirror had been wiped clean.
Her one, foggy eye remained though and it did not fade for sometime.
Now, I sleep with the door to my bathroom closed and take care when I stare into the mirror, lest the haunted woman return.
(Prompt by Kimisha Cassidy)
Little did I know that the other world was just on the other side of my mirror.
One night I was sitting in bed. I had long ago stopped closing my bathroom door. I was alone in my little en suite bedroom, there was no need for privacy. I looked up and instead of coming eye to eye with my own face, as I normally did, I found myself looking at the silhouetted profile of a haunted, hooded woman.
Her face was marked in the gathered steam on my mirror, almost as if I had smudged her into being there myself. But I had not. I knew I hadn't rubbed away the steam from my mirror. In fact, I preferred to look at myself as a blurred reflection. It was more comforting to imagine that perhaps I looked beautiful were it not for the blur than to be confronted with a sharp, vivid reminder that I was not.
At first the woman stayed still, perhaps observing me as I observed her. Then, I felt drawn to her.
She was just a smudge, surely. I must have misremembered. Haunted silhouettes don't live in mirrors or anywhere else I told myself. I would approach and reassure myself of this. No need to ruin my evening over a mirror.
Her singular eye was foggy and I couldn't break my gaze from it. It drew me to her.
I walked closer until I was in front of the mirror, staring into her one foggy eye.
Before I realized it, I could feel part of myself leaving my body. The silhouette drank me in through her small, unmoving lips and yet I didn't object. I just kept staring at her, waiting. The longer I stayed there, motionless, looking at the distorted face, the more of me I lost.
I felt myself clutching the sink underneath my mirror and looked down, almost in shock. I had nearly forgotten there was more of me. I brought my eyes away from the haunted profile and stared at my small, freckled hands. I thought briefly of how I had always liked my freckles and how they dotted my skin. I remembered how my friends used to joke that you could play connect the dots with them. This memory drew a small smile from me.
The pleasant memory evaporated like the leftover steam from my shower and I snapped my eyes back to the mirror.
The woman was gone. Or, at least, her profile had been smeared and no longer resembled a haunted, hooded figure with thirsty lips that waited to drink in more of me. Most of the mirror had been wiped clean.
Her one, foggy eye remained though and it did not fade for sometime.
Now, I sleep with the door to my bathroom closed and take care when I stare into the mirror, lest the haunted woman return.
(Prompt by Kimisha Cassidy)
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