Finish this sentence: “When I look in the mirror, I . . .”
When I look in the mirror, I see reality.
Why is he here?
The portly man who is stern like a soldier, stares at my reflection with unforgiving eyes. He means no harm, but bears a streak of violence in him. He carries a Baselard wherever he goes, ready to lash at anyone who gets in his way. He wipes his hands on his grubby singlet as I push him away. In a flurry, I collide with the gentleman. His face reverberates with dashing masculinity and his eyes seem to bring you into a different universe if you look for more than a minute. I apologise as he helps me up from my clumsy stumble.
I didn’t want to make an audience, but they all saw.
The handsome lady, in her black and white checked shirt, stood watching indifferently, but with an air of sadness in her eyes.
The knowledgeable old man nudged his frameless glasses with the edge of his book and returned to reading.
The girl in her leather jersey tee-shirt and shorts drew patterns on the dusty floor, contemplating the solution to her problems.
Footsteps inched closer, closer, and closer. “Why the hell won’t you pay attention and do as I say, damnit!” The tyrant cussed as he saw me along the corridor.
I grasped for my stocky friend to stop him from whipping out his dagger, but my fingers clenched only the stale air of the room. The tyrant stared at my flailing arms and mocked before walking away.
When I looked behind again, they had all gone into hiding, vanishing into the air like magic. I guess no-one could help me – how silly of me to think they would stay to help.
I never knew their names, but each time I looked into the mirror, I would see them evolve from a mist and appear behind me, like a figment of imagination…