The Man in the Mirror
My first memory of the man in the mirror was when I was a young boy, roughly 6 or 7. I was playing with building blocks, you know the ones, stacking the blocks with care, then smashing them apart in an insatiable rage. My reflection in the mirror caught my eye. I was standing over the blocks, chest heaving and feeling badass, when my reflection tilted its head as if questioning my actions. In the blink of an eye, the reflection went back to normal, as if I dreamt the entire ordeal, leaving young me stunned and confused.
“BENNET!” Angela called “Our next budget cut is in a week, and if you want to keep your job, you’ll get back to work.” Ripped from my memories I stumble back to my cubicle, another day at the grind, I think mournfully. It’s been 30 years since my first encounter with the man in the mirror. By the time I was 8 my reflection became my best friend, I would elaborate on school, new toys, and everything in between to my reflection, who turned out to be an amazing listener. I’ve always been the weird kid, I would prefer to sit and talk to the puddle instead of my friends, who distance themselves from me overtime. By the time I was 10, my parents began to become concerned that my imaginary friend was still prevalent, and I promptly found myself seated in front of a physiatrist. I soon realized that it was not normal to talk to your reflection, but by then word had gotten out that I was the loony kid who talks to the mirror and sees a shrink six days a week.
At 15 I was still the weird kid, and everyone made sure I knew that. Crash! I felt my shoulder pop out of my socket as Trevor slammed me to the ground “Where’s your friend?” he asks with a well-placed kick to the stomach. As fast as I was, I couldn’t outrun the hulking teen. Trevor was your classic bully; he sported a mullet that no one was brave enough to tell him it looked stupid. He strongly supported brawns over brains, spending most of his time smoking weed instead of studying, which in turn, held him back three grades. You might wonder why he was beating me, well this time I made the mistake of saying he might graduate with the second graders if he kept up the good work to my sister, who sat patiently waiting for the day’s assessments like the teacher’s pet she was. “Your dumb ass should get your shrink to fight back for you, pussy” “You’re about as good at insults as you are at math” This earned me a knee to the jaw, sending me flying back to the asphalt.
Through the blood and tears, I could see my reflection standing up in the puddle, looking angrier than I’d ever seen myself look. As Trevor was rearing up for another devastating blow, his eyes widened in sheer terror. As his bones started to crack and splinter, he screamed in terror and pain as I looked on in horror. His arms and legs began to bend unnaturally, and his chest collapsed, crushing his lungs. His screams stopped abruptly, his face contorted into an expression of pain I hadn’t thought possible, in an instant his head imploded, as if being crushed by an impossible force. The image would haunt me for my entire life. In the growing pool of blood, I saw the man in the mirror melt into smoke, then disappear entirely.
I told the police that he had been hit by a truck that kept going. Although it was obvious they could tell I was lying, they let me go. I had wished they would have shot me then and there. The whispers followed me around that day, all eyes were on my back, but when I turned around, the eyes were trained on the floor, as if it were the most important thing in the world. I would ask my teachers a question, they wouldn’t answer, just stare in disgust and fear. For all they knew, Trevor was beating on yet another loser, then was found an hour later, beyond recognition. No one paid any attention to the kid on the ground, beaten within an inch of his life.
Back home I opened the door to see my mother sobbing in my dad’s arms, whose face was hard as stone. My sister, who was as important to me as gold, stared distantly through me, as if I wasn’t there. It was almost as if I was only as real to her as she thought the man in the mirror was. “How did you do it Josh?” she asked softly. Right then and there I decided to go, somewhere, anywhere but here. On my way out I glanced at the mirror, my reflection was gone as if it was never there in the first place. I ran out into the woods, determined to break my curse, even if I had to kill myself to bring the man in the mirror with me.