Mirror

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by BonkersLeighRose, May 15, 2014.

  1. Hello! This is a very short, slightly gloomy moment in the life of someone who is dying. I'd love to hear what you think.

    Mirror

    I stared at the girl before me in awe. She was beautiful, so alive. Her radiant blue eye shone with life and the lack of shadows underneath them made her seem healthy. She wasn't dying. Her youthful face showed the beginnings of adulthood; lashes darkened with mascara and lips tinged pink with gloss. She was a teenager -- too young to die -- but, at the same time she was me, and she was dying. My refection gazed at me with the same wonder with which I gazed upon her.

    I lifted my hand towards the beautiful girl.

    My hand looked stick thin and pale, as it struggled though the heavy air, but the hand that copied my movement, reaching towards me, was elegant and tanned. Our hands paused for a moment, as they were about to touch, shaking slightly. The air felt thick. In a reckless heartbeat, I pushed my hand towards her. Onto the cool metallic mirror.

    In that heartbeat, her hand changed. It grew old and the flesh hung loosely around her frail hand. I looked in horror from her young eyes to the aged hand. The wrinkles spread like a disease, creeping along her arm and spreading across her body. Bags formed around her eyes and her long thick brown hair greyed and thinned. Her eyes aged, not only from time but from knowledge. I looked at her with disgust, a look she returned. I hated what she had become. I wanted the carefree girl to come back.

    Then I realised. I was the carefree girl. I was the dying old woman. I was both. The girl in the mirror might be too young to die but the old lady had lived her life out and was happy to except the end. I was old enough to die and too young to have lived my life out.

    A tear ran down the old woman's face and, as it fell from her chin, she was transformed once again. Not to the young girl -- she was gone -- but to me.

    A young adult with bags under her unwrinkled eyes, with short, thin hair and eyes that were young with youth but old with death. The person I was and the person had to be.