The mirror was the last remaining artifact of a turbulent time. It saw heartache and joy, chaos and peace, anger and fear, both life and death. The mirror witnessed it all as it hung on delicate and faded paisley wallpaper. The mirror’s frame was carved into intricate waves and loops, like a vine of ivy wrapping itself around the reflective glass. A thick coat of dust covered every crevice of the frame.
The mirror spent its life hanging on the wall at the very end of a long hallway. This particular ending happened to be where even rogue sunbeams from windows and happenstance flickers from sconces refused to enlighten it. Ever encased in shadow, the mirror’s intent changed.
Nevermore would it behold a person for a perusal of appearance—to ensure a proper image or smooth a rebellious stray hair. Instead, the mirror entranced its viewer. Filled with darkness and all it had witnessed in all its years of hanging on the farthest wall at the end of the hall, the mirror reflected back at its viewers and invaded its way to the very heart of their being, like a shard of glass stabbing into their hearts.
The mirror weighed their good days and bad, their traumas and simple pleasures, and judged each moment’s worth. It crafted a distorted reflection for the unsuspecting viewer. Every moment twisted and rippled as a new lens covered their mind’s eye. A world at peace became a world at war; a family united was turned into a family torn asunder; even the most tightly knit of communities burned to the ground. The mirror showed them moments of pain and conflict, dripping and drenched in darkness, for that is all it knew at the twilight end of its hallway.
And how easy it was! Yes, quite easy, indeed. To read the darkest corners of their minds, and replace the world the observers knew with one of the mirror’s own creation. Simple and quick, a mere small blemish in the reflection it displayed. Its victims would stumble off. Their intended destination down that hall forgotten amid their manipulated memories. Their minds were a fog as they adjusted to the reality of the mirror’s making.
They’d forget the mirror, too, in their trance. Never suspecting the new lens placed in front of them, nor where it could have come from. They forgot the happiest moments of their lives with the weight of the mirror’s world. The manipulated reflection held the victims captive without them ever knowing themselves to be prisoners under another’s influence.
One day they may realize the construct that colored their view. They may shatter the mirrored glass that showed only faults and scars, and embrace the rose-colored world at large with its joys and celebrations that went hand in hand with the scrapes and bruises. For how else would one recognize true happiness without true sorrow?
Leave a Reply